


The Letter

by SailorChibi



Series: Spiderling verse [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Play, Awesome May Parker, Baby Peter Parker, Bathing, Carrying, Crying, Daddy Tony Stark, Diapers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Infantilism, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark Coparenting Peter Parker, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker can handle everything by himself, Peter basically has three parental figures, Platonic Bed Sharing, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Protective Pepper Potts, Protective Tony Stark, Stuffed Toys, Tony Stark Has Self-Esteem Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark has PTSD, alternate universe - littles are known, and he doesn't know what to do about that, and into infinity war, bed wetting, bottles, but they're both trying their best here, caregiver tony stark, little peter parker, non sexual age play, non sexual infantilism, protective may parker, relationships are complicated, takes place during spider-man homecoming, thumb sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 41,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24571462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: Peter Parker is a Little, but that's fine. It's all fine. He can handle it.Tony Stark disagrees.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Spiderling verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776004
Comments: 516
Kudos: 1926





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm normally not a huge fan of Pepperony so it will be pretty minor in this fic.

Peter awoke feeling calm and pleasant, which was unusual enough that he couldn’t help taking note of it. He’d been dreaming, he recalled. It had been a good dream, full of soft, muted colors and gentle voices and strong arms that held him close. He kind of wished that he could fall back asleep and into the dream, back into a place where there were no responsibilities and Tony Stark loved him –

His eyes popped open.

Shit. Peter groaned quietly and pressed his hands to his hot face, suddenly _deeply_ grateful that Aunt May was not a mind reader. It was bad enough that Peter had been having these kinds of dreams in the first place; it was a thousand times worse that the star player in all of those dreams was Mr. Stark. Peter was 100% sure that Mr. Stark would’ve been amused at best and outraged at worst, and Peter couldn’t figure out which reaction would feel worse. He never wanted to find out.

“Peter, are you awake?” Aunt May called, tapping on his door, and Peter jumped. Then he froze.

“Uh – yeah,” he said loudly, grimacing as he peeled his comforter and sheets off his legs. “I’m not decent, so don’t come in.”

“Alright. Just hurry. I want to have breakfast with you before I leave,” she said.

“Right,” Peter said, staring forlornly at the soggy mess that had been his comfortable bed. This was really getting out of hand. 

“And Happy Birthday!”

Peter pinched his lips together rather than answer. He was fifteen today. Most kids probably would have been excited about that, but Peter most definitely wasn’t. Because today was _the_ day: the day when he could go pick up his classification results. Also known as the day when his fate was sealed.

The majority of the population, Aunt May included, were classified as baseline: regular humans with no biological differences. But approximately 20% of the population was different, and those differences fell into two key categories. 

Caregivers were physically stronger than normal humans. They were genetically predisposed towards having strong nurturing instincts; during his research, Peter had come across several statements from Caregivers who claimed that the need to care for someone was akin to a compulsion. Their lives were empty and incomplete without it, and that was the reason why many Caregivers gravitated towards jobs in the medical or teaching fields. But caring for children wasn’t usually enough to satisfy that urge.

And so, that was where the Littles of the world came in. Littles were physically adults, but with a childlike headspace. There was a whole list of different headspace ranges, and appropriate laws governing each one. Some Littles stayed in their headspace all the time, so they were easy to pinpoint. But others were capable of having an adult headspace too, and so that was why…

Peter swallowed hard, his hands shaking.

That was why the government had the classification test. Every fourteen-year-old had to report to a center to have their blood taken. Then, on their fifteenth birthday, they would receive a letter indicating their classification. That letter could shape your future for better or worse, but there was no getting around it. Peter had tried. You couldn’t even get to the next grade in school without having your classification on file.

Today was Peter’s fifteenth birthday. As soon as he picked his letter up, he wouldn’t be able to avoid the truth of the matter anymore: a truth that he had been carefully hiding for the better part of six years now. There was a small chance that the fact that he grew tired easily and needed a ton of sleep, had bowel and bladder control problems, loved bright, shiny things, cried at the drop of a hat, and regularly sucked his thumb was either coincidence or indicative of an illness – but there was no way in hell Peter Parker was going to be that lucky.

“I hate this,” he hissed out, clambering out of bed. He stripped the sheets and comforter off the bed, balling them up and shoving them into the bucket he had put there for just that reason. His sodden boxers followed. The smart thing to do would be to buy pull-ups and wear them to bed, but his face got hot just thinking about it.

He clumsily wiped himself up, vowing to take a shower as soon as Aunt May was gone, and hauled on jeans and a t-shirt. He left his room, carefully closing the door behind him, and headed into the dining room. He submitted to the huge hug that Aunt May bestowed on him, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. He had not cried in front of her for a long time, and he was not going to start now.

Oh, Aunt May probably had her suspicions. In fact, Peter was certain that she did. It was pure luck that her job as a nurse kept her out of the apartment as much as it did, or she would have concrete proof when it came to the load of laundry that Peter had to do pretty much every morning. 

Aunt May pulled back and cupped Peter’s cheeks, peering at him worriedly. “It’s going to be alright, Pete. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Peter mumbled half-heartedly, not meeting her eyes. She was wrong, but he couldn’t explain to her just _how wrong_ she was without telling her about his identity. And if Peter had his way, that was never going to happen.

“You’re nervous about your letter and that makes sense, but you don’t know what it says,” she said encouragingly. “Even if it’s a result that you’re not happy with, we’ll make it work.”

Peter silently nodded, stomach churning with a fresh bout of anxiety. Aunt May was baseline, and she poured so much of herself into her job as it was. There was no way she had the capacity to take care of a Little. Peter had been coping by himself up until now, but everything he read suggested that the Little headspace became progressively stronger the older you got.

He didn’t know if he’d be able to self-soothe and take care of himself for much longer. If he were a Little, he’d need a Caregiver. But there was no one he knew who fit the bill –

No one who would be _willing_ , anyway, a little voice in the back of Peter’s head whispered, and he deliberately did not let himself think about Mr. Stark.

\- and that meant they would probably have to pay someone. He was pretty sure that Aunt May would be able to apply and get some money from the government, but things were already so tight for them that he didn’t think that would be enough. Professionally paid Caregivers were expensive. Plus, having a professional Caregiver around would make being Spider-Man next to impossible. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” Aunt May asked, and Peter realized he’d been standing there, lost in thought, while she stared at him with an increasingly furrowed eyebrow.

“No, it’s fine. Ned wants to go to the comic bookstore. I can swing by on my way to meet him,” Peter said, attempting to interject some levity into his voice. Like it wasn’t a big deal at all. It must have worked because Aunt May smiled at him.

“That sounds like fun. Let’s have breakfast,” she said, nodding towards the table. She had cooked pancakes for them both, and they were actually decent this time, but he didn’t have much of an appetite. He forced down three, just enough to take the edge off of Aunt May’s watchful look, before he set aside his fork.

“Are we still going for supper tonight?” he asked.

“Absolutely. I’ll make sure I’m off on time,” Aunt May said, collecting the dishes. “Our reservation is at 7pm.”

“I’ll be there,” Peter said, getting up. He kissed her cheek and said good-bye, and then listened to the sound of her walking into the living room. She paused a moment, likely to gather her purse and coat, and then left.

As soon as the door was shut behind her, Peter jumped into the shower and hastily scrubbed himself down. Thank god Aunt May didn’t have an enhanced sense of smell like he did, or the scent of urine would have been a dead give away of what had happened. 

When he was clean, he took his sheets and comforter down to be washed and then headed back upstairs to rinse off the plastic mat he had overtop his mattress. It had cost him almost fifty bucks to get a good quality one, but the mat had saved his mattress several times over. He laid it back over the mattress to dry and then went into the kitchen to do the dishes.

About two hours later, bed remade with freshly washed sheets and a comforter just in case Aunt May came home early for some reason, Peter left the apartment and clattered down the steps. What he really would have liked to do was go for a run around the city and burn off some energy in the Spider-Man way, but he knew that Aunt May would ask about his letter tonight. If he didn’t have it, she’d want to know why – and then she’d probably make him go pick it up tomorrow. He’d only be putting off the inevitable.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and started the slow walk, mind unwittingly flitting back to his dream. He’d always admired Tony Stark, but the dreams had increased in frequency ever since getting to see Iron Man in action. What had happened at the airport had been _awesome_ , and for a brief shining moment Spider-Man had really felt like an Avenger…

But then they’d come home, and Peter hadn’t heard a word from Mr. Stark since. That was pretty telling.

It was just too bad his dreams weren’t getting the memo. 

Everyone knew that Mr. Stark was a Caregiver, just like everyone knew that Mr. Stark had never taken a Little. Apparently, he got enough satisfaction caring for people in his job as a superhero, which made sense. Even if Peter was Mr. Stark’s best friend, it was just never going to happen. That didn’t stop his stupid heart from wanting Mr. Stark, though. 

He’d be a good Caregiver, Peter thought dreamily. He may not have spent a lot of personal time with Mr. Stark, but the little time they had spent together had shown that. Mr. Stark was always looking out for the people around him. He had checked in with Peter multiple times on the way to the airport, always making sure that Peter was comfortable, and that Peter knew when to get himself out of the way.

It had been… nice. Peter was used to taking care of himself. Aunt May did her best, and he absolutely did not begrudge her – hell, if she hadn’t taken him in, who knew where Peter would have ended up? – but facts were facts. Being the one in control all the time was exhausting, and Peter suspected that it was going to get worse as time wore on. He didn’t want to put even more on Aunt May’s shoulders. That wasn’t fair to her.

He climbed the steps to the appropriate building and joined a small line-up of other teenagers and their parents. Peter was the only one alone. A few people gave him curious looks, but no one said anything. Peter avoided their eyes, staring at the ground and shuffling forward one step at a time until it was his turn.

“Name?” the clerk asked.

“Parker. Peter Parker.”

She asked to see his identification, typed a few things into his computer, and then turned away to rummage through a filing drawer. After a moment, she handed him an envelope. Peter took it and numbly moved off to the side. For a few seconds, he entertained the thought that he might open it up and see baseline written on it. That meant there was another, easy solution to everything else.

But his luck was never that good. Peter sighed and ran his finger beneath the flap. There was only a single sheet of paper inside. He took the letter out and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping, before unfolding it. His eyes were instantly drawn to the bolded word on the page that condemned to a lot of problems in the very near future. Little.

Well shit.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony jerked awake with a gasp and the taste of iron on his lips. He shot up in bed, heart hammering, and instantly doubled over as his midsection vehemently protested the movement. He stayed frozen in place for several seconds, until the sharp pain had faded to the point where he could take a breath without feeling like he was going to cry, and then slowly straightened up. He looked around the room, but it was - of course - empty except for him.

Even the bed beside him was empty.

He refused to look at the place where Pepper had once lain, instead pulling the sweat-soaked sheets back and gingerly climbing out of bed. According to his doctors, his recovery was progressing at a very good pace. But not nearly as good as Tony would have liked. He thought longingly of those days before he had gone to Afghanistan, when he didn't have to think twice about moving around. A lack of pain was one of the only things he missed about those days, but he couldn't deny that he would have paid a lot to not have to deal with this.

"FRI, what time is it?" he asked, clearing his throat.

"It's just after 4am, Boss," FRIDAY answered.

Of course. He had only fallen asleep after midnight. No wonder he was still tired. He rubbed at his eyes as he crossed over to the windows. Even this late - or this early, depending on how you looked at it - New York was bustling. There was a restless feeling to the city that echoed what Tony felt. He didn't know why he was feeling this way, but he sure as hell wished he could get over it. A lack of sleep wasn't exactly helping him to heal faster.

"Alright. I'm heading down to the workshop," he said, grabbing a sweater and pulling it on. Based on the fact that it was pale pink in color, he thought it might once have belonged to Pepper. For all that she preferred tailored clothing in public, she was a big fan of over-sized sweaters in private. He wondered if she had forgotten it, or if she had left it behind on purpose. When he pulled the hem of it up over his nose and breathed in, he could smell traces of her favorite perfume.

_"I'm sorry, Tony. I can't do this. I want more, and I know you don't. I'm okay with that, but - but I can't be with you right now. Not without resenting you."_

He let the sweater drop, smoothing out the material, as her words rang through his mind. It was for the best, he told himself. Pepper wasn't sure if she wanted children; it was one of the reasons why Tony had initially thought that the two of them might actually work out. He’d let himself hope, for a few precious months, that for once in his life he might have done something right.

But then, slowly but surely, Pepper had started dropping hints until Tony couldn't ignore the truth any longer: she was definitely interested in having a Little. And Tony could understand why. Pepper would be a wonderful mother regardless of whether she was caring for a baby or a Little. She was kind, calm, and gave the most wonderful hugs. She deserved to have a Little.

Just not with Tony. 

He couldn't do that to Pepper _or_ to a Little.

The result of that conversation was an empty room. Pepper had gone to visit her sister for a few weeks; when she returned, she had plans to move back into her apartment. The thought made Tony's stomach twist. He wanted nothing more than for Pepper to come home, but he wasn't sure he could bring himself to agree to her terms. It would be better for all involved, including the hypothetical Little, if Tony were a selfless man who let Pepper go. She would find someone else, someone _better_ , and he would devote himself to keeping the earth safe.

After all, there were enough so-called heroes in the wind now that the earth had precious few protectors left over. There was Tony and Vision, and that was it for the Avengers - it would be a while before Rhodey was capable of walking again, never mind getting back into a suit. He had vague notions of finding someone else to join the team, but nothing concrete had come out of it yet.

And then there was Peter, but honestly Tony didn't consider the kid an Avenger. Peter was only fourteen. No, Tony mentally corrected himself, fifteen. Peter's fifteenth birthday had been two days ago. FRIDAY had reminded him. He'd fought against the temptation to send Peter a gift, not wanting to get the kid's hopes up any more than they already were.

Peter was too young. That was the simple matter of it. He was just a kid, and he didn’t need to be risking his life on a daily basis. What happened in Germany shouldn’t have happened at all; had he known that Rogers and his crew were going to react like _that_ , Tony never would have taken Peter along to begin with. That was why he was making it a point to separate himself from Peter now. It was safer that way. The kid had a suit to protect him just in case, but there was no way Tony was going to actively involve him. Bad enough Peter had been involved as much as he had.

“It’s safer this way,” he said out loud, as though the act of saying the words would reaffirm them in his own head. “Better for me to keep my distance and not go around Peter _or_ Pepper at all.” He nodded sharply.

The real question was, why did that perfectly reasonable thought make the ache in his chest all the more prominently?

\---

“You’re sure that you’re ready for this? You can stay home today if you like.”

“I’m fine,” Peter said, for what might have been the fifteenth time that morning. He couldn’t bring himself to look Aunt May in the eye, instead staring fixedly at the ground.

“Alright. If you’re sure,” she said hesitantly. “If you have any problems you can call…”

“I know.”

“Would you like me to walk you to school?” 

“ _No_!” Peter exclaimed, horrified. He risked a quick peek and his stomach twisted at the sight of Aunt May’s hurt expression. He hadn’t meant for it to come out so emphatically, but Aunt May walking him to school like – like – well, like a _baby_ was the absolutely last thing that Peter needed right now.

The afterhours conversation with the principal and Peter’s teachers was bad enough. They all knew now, having received the official documentation the same day that Peter had. His English teacher had pushed hard to have Peter transferred to a specialty school for Littles, while his math and science teachers had been very supportive of Peter sticking around at Midtown School of Science and Technology.

It had taken a lot of fast talking on Aunt May’s part, but eventually the principal had agreed that Peter could have a trial run. If he could hold himself together for the next two-ish months, and not have any breakdowns or slip into his headspace at school, then the year would be over. They’d reconvene in August to see if Peter would be allowed to come back for the next school year.

He desperately hoped he’d be allowed to come back.

“Alright,” Aunt May said again, softer this time. She lifted her hand like she was going to touch him, and Peter honestly couldn’t decide whether he wanted her to or not – but then, in the end, she just tucked a strand of hair behind her own ear.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Peter mumbled, looking away again. The past three days had been extremely awkward. Aunt May had guessed at his classification, but there was a big difference between guessing and _knowing_. She didn’t seem to know what to do with herself, or with him, anymore. 

“Peter.”

Her voice was so firm that he couldn’t help looking up at her.

Aunt May put her hands on his shoulders. “Peter, listen to me. I know this isn’t what you wanted. It’s going to be hard for you. I get that. But you’re not alone, okay? I’m here for you. I told you before that we’d make this work and I meant it. I want to do whatever is right for you. I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

“I know,” Peter said, swallowing the lump in his throat. His aunt was honestly the best. So far as he knew, there were only a handful of Littles attending MSST, and all of them had headspaces a lot older than Peter’s. He would never forget the way Aunt May had gone white when she realized just how young Peter’s headspace was.

A baby.

He dropped his gaze again, inwardly shuddering at the thought of someone like Flash finding out that bit of information. Peter would literally never hear the end of it. He could hear the diaper jokes already. He was going to have to be more careful than ever about keeping to his bathroom schedule. If he skipped even one time – if he wet himself or worse in front of his classmates –

“You’re going to be okay. You’ve been handling this remarkably well,” she went on. “I’m proud of you. And who knows, maybe you’ll be one of the lucky ones. Some Littles never actually fall into a complete headspace. It’s rare, but it has happened. Maybe this won’t affect you biologically at all.” She gave him a hopeful smile.

Peter tried to return it, knowing that wasn’t going to happen. Aunt May hadn’t pressed him for details about whether or not he had noticed any ‘symptoms’ of his headspace, and Peter had chosen not to share any. Maybe, he thought with a wild burst of hope, he could make it through the next two years just by hiding everything. He’d only need a caregiver on paper that way, and he’d be able to graduate from MSST and maybe even get into MIT on scholarship. Once he was in university, if he really needed a caregiver, he could privately arrange for one without having to worry about Aunt May paying for it.

He brightened slightly, feeling positive enough to smile for real. “Thanks, Aunt May. I’ll text you at lunch time, okay?”

“Sounds good,” Aunt May said, leaning in and kissing his cheek. 

“Have a good day,” he said, stepping back and grabbing his backpack. He slung it over his shoulder and headed out the door, determined to make it through the day without anything changing.

By law, the administrators and teachers at the school weren’t permitted to tell anyone his classification because he was still a minor. That meant no one else knew, or would know, unless Peter or Aunt May said something. Aunt May had already promised to keep quiet, and Peter certainly had no intentions of telling anyone. It was bad enough he was being teased about his ‘internship’ with Stark Industries.

Ned was waiting for him sometimes. He grinned when he saw Peter. “Hey man! How was your birthday vacation?”

“Great,” Peter lied. He’d taken yesterday off under the guise that Aunt May had planned something for his fifteenth birthday. Luckily, Ned hadn’t questioned the lie too closely.

“You missed a pop quiz in math,” said Ned.

“Crap,” Peter said, sighing. “I’ll have to see if I can make it up at lunchtime. Was it hard?”

Ned considered the question, then shook his head. “Nah. Not for you and your brain.”

“My brain is pretty tired, so I hope you’re right,” Peter said, having stayed awake most of the night worrying about how today would go. But he felt better now for having seen Ned. Heading to school together was normal, and that’s what Peter desperately needed right now. 

“It’s only Tuesday and we have an English test first period, so you better wake up,” Ned told him.

Peter froze in horror. “Oh shit. There’s an English test?!”

“Yup.”

“Craaaaaaap,” Peter moaned, dropping his hands into his hands, and Ned laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. In spite of himself, Peter smiled ever so slightly. He could do this.


	3. Chapter 3

He couldn't do this.

His skin prickled with unease as Peter made his way into school. He was hyper aware of every student that walked by him in a way that he hadn't been for weeks. His logical mind told him that no one was looking at him strangely; the more paranoid side of him was convinced that his fellow students had taken one look and pegged him as a Little. It was the same way he'd felt after his first trip out as Spider-Man. At this point, Peter honestly wasn't sure what would be worse: being exposed as Spider-Man or being exposed as a Little. 

"Uhhh... are you okay?" Ned said in his ear, grabbing Peter's arm. "You're walking past your locker."

"What? Oh. Right." Peter gave his head a shake and backtracked a few steps to stand in front of his locker. His fingers were trembling when he set them on the lock, and he pretended not to notice Ned's confused, worried look.

"Just what did you and your aunt do over the weekend?" Ned asked slowly.

Peter shrugged into his locker. "I told you. Aunt May had some stuff planned. She wanted to take me to see my parent's graves and stuff like that." Which wasn't technically a lie, though they hadn't actually gone. Aunt May had seemed to think that Peter was under enough stress at the moment without driving five hours one way to visit a cemetery, and Peter hadn't argued. He wasn't sure what his parents would have thought of him being a Little. He didn't really remember them well enough to be able to judge.

"Oh," Ned said, and, when Peter glanced over at him, he looked uncomfortable.

"It's cool," Peter said, feeling a little guilty for the awkwardness. "No big deal. Just ended up coming home late and I had a hard time falling asleep, so I'm tired today." He faked a yawn for emphasis.

"Maybe you should spend less time at your internship," said Ned. 

"Now you sound like my aunt," Peter muttered.

"Well, I'm just saying. No one's happy you quit the team."

"Yeah, I know. I've heard," Peter said. To be honest, he did miss the decathlon team - but only a little. Spending time in close quarters with Flash Thompson was no one's idea of a good time, but Peter especially. Flash's taunting had only grown worse since Peter had mentioned his internship. Constantly being interrupted with little mocking comments every time Peter spoke up was frustrating enough without having to worry about saying something that might give away one or both of his secrets. 

"And you're missing an interesting topic today. We're practicing our debate skills," Ned went on.

"What's that?" Peter said absently, searching for his math book.

"Whether or not Littles should be allowed to be superheroes."

"Ah, shit!" Peter swore as he dropped two books on his foot. He stooped down to grab them, grateful for the chance to school his expression into something slightly less frantic.

Because that was the other reason he was paranoid about both of his secrets getting out.

It was only recently that the idea of Littles and superheroes had started to mesh, and the general public had very mixed opinions about it. None of the original Avengers had been Littles: they were a mix of baselines and Caregivers. But there were some rumors going around about a few members of the X-Men. Peter didn't know if the rumors were true or not, but it was something he had been trying very hard not to think about. Bad enough that being a Little was going to make his life twice as complicated; he didn't need to dwell on how many people thought he wasn't a fit for the job because of it.

Bottom line was, Peter had the powers. So it didn't matter if he was the ideal candidate. He was the one who could do something about it.

"It's going to be a cool debate, I think," Ned continued, seemingly not noticing Peter's panic. "I'm arguing in favor of it."

"You are?" Peter said breathlessly.

"Yeah. As long as people can handle themselves out in the field and aren’t endangering anyone, what difference does it make?" Ned shrugged and slammed his locker shut. "Flash is arguing against it."

"Of course he is," Peter muttered, closing his locker door too. Now he was even more grateful that he had quit. That was not a debate that he needed to sit through. It would only drive him crazier than he already was. 

He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, grateful when Ned changed the subject to something else. He gave half-hearted responses as they walked to class together. As he took his seat, he fished his phone out of his pocket and glanced hopefully at the screen. But yet again, there was no message from Mr. Stark. Not even a message from Happy.

What if Mr. Stark knew about Peter’s classification? 

The thought gave Peter pause. Officially those records were supposed to be sealed except for places like schools, but this was _Tony Stark_. There was no firewall in the world that could keep Mr. Stark out, so if Mr. Stark really wanted to know then he would know. 

But why would Mr. Stark care? Unless he wanted to talk to Peter about a job, but hadn’t because he’d found out Peter was a Little –

“Uh, you sure you’re okay? You’re shaking,” Ned said, eyeing him dubiously.

“Fine. Just gotta text Mr. Stark,” Peter croaked out.

There was a snort from behind them as Flash slung himself into his seat. “Why the hell are you still pretending that you’ve got an internship with Stark Industries? Everyone knows that you’re just bullshitting, Parker. It’s gonna blow up in your face, you know.”

“I’m not bullshitting,” Peter said, but it came out more weakly than he’d intended. Because if Mr. Stark did know and had decided that Peter wasn’t worthy of being an Avenger because he was a Little, then technically Peter _was_ lying.

Flash leaned in with a smirk. “Riiiiight,” he drawled. “We’re just supposed to believe that Tony Stark, of all people, just randomly decided to give you an internship. Because you’re soooooo smart.”

A couple of other students who were listening in giggled. Peter’s ears grew hot.

“I don’t think you’ve ever even met Tony Stark,” Flash went on. “What would Stark want with a pathetic fanboy like you?”

“Shut up,” Peter snapped, but it was too late. The whispers were spreading, and he could hear more laughter, which just made the whole situation worse. He could feel his face getting hot too and that just made the giggles worse. Ned was looking at him out of the corner of his eye, clearly waiting for Peter to stand up for himself, but Peter wasn't sure what to say.

Because technically, Flash wasn't wrong. He didn't have an internship with Stark Industries. That was a cover for a one-time situation. Mr. Stark hadn't even contacted him once since then. 

"Why don't you knock it off, Flash?" MJ said, but Peter couldn't even look at her. He was too embarrassed. He wished more than anything that he taken Aunt May up on her offer to take this week off too. He'd thought that it would be better if he went back to school as quickly as possible to maintain his usual routine, but -

"What? I'm not doing anything but pointing out the truth," Flash said with a nasty grin. "If Parker were really interning for Stark Industries, he could show us some proof. A photograph of him and Tony Stark. A paper that they've written together. Hell, I'd even take an intern ID badge. But I bet that Parker doesn't have any of that stuff, does he?"

His grin widened when Peter remained quiet.

"Peter?" Ned said quietly, uncertainly.

"It's - I don't - I'm not supposed to show anyone that stuff. It's confidential," Peter said, his heart pounding. There were so many people staring at him. It was horrible. 

"What a lucky coincidence," Flash mocked. "All of the stuff that could prove you're not a huge liar is _confidential_."

"What a loser," someone whispered, loud enough that Peter could easily hear it. His hands started to shake.

Maybe they were right.

Maybe Mr. Stark didn't want anything to do with him now.

Maybe Peter was just fooling himself.

"I'm just saying, it'll take a lot more than a phone number to convince me," Flash said, leaning back in his chair with the easy confidence of someone who knows they've won. "I think Parker's full of it. I don't think he's ever even _met_ Tony Stark."

Normally this would've been the moment where Ned or, on a rare occasion, MJ jumped to Peter's defense, but right now both of them quiet. Peter realized with a renewed flush of humiliation that it was because they were doubting him too. Ned had believed his story, but now Ned was looking at him with an uncertain expression. No doubt he was remembering all the times he'd asked Peter about the so-called internship only to receive sketchy answers or no answer at all.

If he could just show them the spider suit - 

That was _unquestionably_ Stark Industries technology.

But of course, he couldn't. No one would believe that Spider-Man had just let Peter borrow that costume. And even if Peter said that it was because he and Mr. Stark were doing maintenance work on the suit for Spider-Man, they'd still want to know why Peter had it lying around. They'd probably start accusing him of stealing it. Then, knowing Peter's luck, the school would somehow get involved and then they'd pull Aunt May into it. Aunt May would want to know why Peter couldn't produce proof, or worse yet she might even reach out to Mr. Stark herself.

That would be horrible. Peter didn't think he could bear it if Mr. Stark knew what a loser he was.

"Just shut up," he croaked out, and then he grabbed his bag and fled the room.

"Mr. Parker! Where do you think you're going?" Ms. Townes was just coming in the door. Peter nearly ran her over.

"I'm feeling sick," Peter said, his stomach curling at the sound of all the laughter behind him - he could hear Flash's voice above them all, high and grating. 

"You're going to miss out on an English test," she said hotly, looking him up and down. Telepathy was not one of the powers that Peter had been blessed - or cursed, depending on your point of view - with, but he still knew exactly what she was thinking.

_This is what happens when you let a Little into school with normal kids._

"I have to go," he burst out, and took off down the hall. She called after him, but Peter didn't stop. He pushed the door open and leapt down the steps, then just started running.

He ran for miles.

He only stopped when his breathing grew too erratic for him to continue, and that was more because of the tears coursing down his face than a lack of stamina. Several miles away from the school, Peter staggered into an alley and sank down onto the ground. His whole body was shaking, and, for a few seconds, he thought that he might throw up. He put his head in his hands.

What a mess. What an absolute, shitty _mess_. Now he was the laughingstock of the school and all because he couldn't hold it together in the face of Flash Thompson. Mr. Stark would've been disgusted with him, and rightfully so. Peter was disgusted with himself. He couldn't have screwed that up worse if he'd tried. Flash had caught him at the worst moment possible, and now - now Peter didn't even know if he could go back. All those laughing faces -

He screwed his face up, biting back a whimper, as a sudden, hot warmth between his thighs made him realize he'd blanked on his scheduled bathroom visit. He'd wet himself. This horrible day was officially complete.

Peter curled up into a small ball and sobbed.


	4. Chapter 4

It was late by the time that Peter returned home. He’d stayed in the alley for hours, until his underwear had grown cold and then slowly begun to dry. Only once the sun had started to go down did he stir, and that was more because he knew Aunt May would be going out of her mind with worry if he was too late than because he really care. He would have spent all night in the alley if he could have.

At least there, no one was judging him or making fun of him or ignoring him.

But, mindful of his aunt, he picked himself up and made his way home. People passing by gave the weird, teary-eyed kid that smelled like a urine a wide birth, so he didn’t have any trouble on the way. He walked rather than take the subway – the thought of being closed in with so many strangers was unbearable right now – so it took another good hour before he was dragging himself up the stairs.

“ – haven’t heard from him, have you?”

Peter winced as he quietly opened the door and heard Aunt May’s frantic words. That didn’t sound promising. She had clearly noticed his absence. He wondered if he’d be able to make up a story that she would accept. It wasn’t likely. The walk had helped him to calm down, but a day of crying had left his eyes and nose tellingly red. 

“Hang on, I heard – oh thank god! Peter, you’re home!” Aunt May barreled into him with such force that Peter stumbled back against the wall. She yanked him into a hug, holding him so tightly and so securely that fresh tears rushed to Peter’s eyes. He blinked them back with effort, refusing to let himself break down in front of his aunt. He was better than that.

“Hi, Aunt May,” he croaked.

“Where the hell have you been? You didn’t text me at lunch and then I get home and you’re not here? It’s after dark! I’ve been worried!” Aunt May exclaimed.

Shit. He’d forgotten all about his promise to text her. Peter made a face at himself over her head. Had he done that, she probably wouldn’t have been nearly as concerned. Just one more way in which he was failing.

“I’m sorry,” he said, very quietly.

“Oh honey.” She pulled back and cupped his face, looking so worried that Peter had to swallow more tears. “Ned told me what happened today. That Flash kid is really getting out of hand.”

“He didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Peter mumbled, a heaviness in his chest. He had dwelled on this for hours and had finally come to the realization that Tony Stark didn’t want anything else to do with him. Mr. Stark had done his due diligence by giving Peter an improved Spider-Man suit and now considered the matter to be over; Peter was not only embarrassing himself by texting Mr. Stark constantly, but worse than that he was making himself a nuisance to the very man he most wanted to impress. 

“Now Peter, you know that’s not true. You don’t have to prove yourself to those idiots,” Aunt May said. “I have half a mind to go down to your school and talk to your principal.”

“Please don’t!” Peter said, horrified by the thought. As far as the administration went, he felt like he was already walking on thin ice. The last thing he needed was for them to decide that having a Little as young as Peter around was too much work.

Besides, he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Flash could basically do and say whatever he wanted because his parents had a ton of money. All they would have to do was make a sizeable donation towards MIT – the likes of which could probably pay the rent for Peter’s and Aunt May’s apartment for twenty years – and the school’s administration would look the other way. Then Flash would have even more ammunition.

Aunt May sighed and looked at him thoughtfully. At last, she said, “I won’t just yet, but I will if this continues.”

“It won’t. I’ll just stop talking about my internship at school. I’ll – I’ll tell everyone that Mr. Stark dropped me,” Peter said. It would hurt a lot, and it would probably do even more damage to his reputation, but at least then Flash would stop asking for proof.

And eventually, Flash would have to get tired of mocking Peter for not having been smart enough to work with Tony Stark, right?

“I don’t like the thought of you having to hide your accomplishments. You should be proud of what you’ve done,” Aunt May said, and Peter’s stomach twisted as he stared at her kind face. She really believed that the internship was real, that it was something Peter would be able to put on his resume, and he had no idea how to go about dissuading her of that notion.

He couldn’t tell her the truth. He just couldn’t. If Aunt May found out that he was Spider-Man, she would be furious – both because Peter had put himself in danger and because he had kept it a secret for so long. There was no doubt in his mind that she’d make him stop. She would say that being a superhero was too dangerous for a Little because Peter could fall into his headspace at any time, and that he needed to give the suit back to Mr. Stark.

He couldn’t stop. Being Spider-Man was the only thing that Peter was good at right now. 

“It’s just – it’s complicated,” Peter said, hating the way that his voice cracked. 

Her frown deepened. “What if you asked Mr. Stark to come to your school?”

“I couldn’t do that. You said it yourself, Aunt May. Mr. Stark is a busy man.” Peter couldn’t look at her and lie. He stared at the floor. His stomach churned as he imagined having to text Mr. Stark again, this time having to say that people at school were bullying Peter because of the non-exist internship and could Mr. Stark please show up and put a stop to it by proving that they knew each other?

Yeah, right. That was one way to make sure that Mr. Stark never contacted him for help with the Avengers again. 

Besides, chances were that text would be ignored just like all of Peter’s other texts. And he could just imagine Flash’s reaction if Peter told everyone that Mr. Stark was coming to MIT and then Mr. Stark didn’t show up. Flash would be _relentless_. It would be a hundred times worse than it was right now.

“I suppose,” Aunt May said finally, sighing. “Well. Surely he’s not too busy to take a selfie with you, right?”

“What?” Peter said, looking at her in confusion.

“The next time you see him at your internship, you ask him for a selfie,” she said, crossing her arms. “Then you’ll have proof to shove in Flash’s face.”

“He’ll just claim it’s photoshopped,” Peter mumbled, rather than coming up with an inventive lie about how Mr. Stark was busy, and Peter didn’t actually see him that often. That would only contradict what he’d told her in the beginning, which was that the internship was so valuable because Mr. Stark was giving Peter loads of one-on-one attention. Aunt May would either get mad Peter had lied or worse, she’d get mad at Mr. Stark for something that had never existed.

As disappointed as Peter was with Mr. Stark right now, he couldn’t stomach setting Aunt May loose on anyone.

Aunt May looked very frustrated at that. “Then we’ll think of something else,” she said determinedly. “You shouldn’t have to prove yourself, but if that’s what will make things better for you then we’ll find a way.”

In spite of himself, Peter had to smile. Knowing that Aunt May was firmly in his corner did help a little. He hoped that she never found out he’d been lying about the internship. He couldn’t bear the thought of how disappointed she would be. Right now, she thought that Peter was something special. Special enough to catch Tony Stark’s attention. His stomach clenched.

“Thanks, Aunt May. Um – I’m going to go take a shower,” he said.

“You should eat first. You’re getting so skinny,” Aunt May said, looking him up and down again.

“I’ll eat when I get out,” Peter said, slipping past him. She wasn’t wrong about how skinny he was getting; he was hungry all the time, but if he ate as much as he needed to then Aunt May would never spend money on anything but food. He hadn’t yet figured out how to consume enough calories to deal with his enhanced metabolism. Usually he settled for cheap junk food after a patrol.

He hurried into the bathroom and peeled his clothes off, grimacing at the smell of urine that wafted up when he took off his jeans and boxers. He stood there for a moment, looking at his clothes and thinking. If this kept happening, he was really going to have to look into – something. _Not_ diapers, even though those were what was recommended for someone of his particular classification.

Pull-ups, maybe. Something absorbent but which looked like normal underwear.

He wondered how much _that_ would cost. Too much. 

He did his business on the toilet and then jumped in the shower, making sure to clean extra well between his thighs. His skin was sensitive and, annoyingly, prone to rashes if he wasn’t careful. Apparently, that was one superpower that the spider hadn’t given him. 

“Peter, supper is ready!” Aunt May called, knocking on the door.

“Coming!” Peter called, switching off the shower. He sighed, leaning against the cold tile wall as a wave of exhaustion ran through him. It was like showering had sapped the remainder of his energy.

He wished someone was here to help, that he didn’t have to take a shower on his own. Their bathroom was too small to even contain a tub. It was a stand-up shower, and it was cramped enough that Peter had banged his elbows more times than he could count. 

But a bath would be nice. The hot water would feel great on his sore muscles, and maybe he could have some bubbles. Maybe even some toys. He’d seen a commercial for a little boat once that could blow bubbles, and it would be even better if there was someone around to help him get out after –

“Peter!”

Peter jumped and nearly slipped.

“Are you okay? It’s been ten minutes!”

“I’m fine,” Peter said quickly. Had he really been standing there daydreaming for ten minutes? No wonder he was cold. He shivered as he stepped out, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his shoulders, then glanced over his shoulder at the shower again.

A bath _would_ be nice, but it was never going to happen. Besides, that would only encourage Peter to fall into his headspace and that was the last thing he needed right now. It was bad enough he’d wet himself today while sobbing in the alley like a baby; he realized now that he was lucky no one had stumbled across him and asked questions that he couldn’t answer. He really needed to pull himself together. 

First things first. He wrapped the towel around his waist and peeked out the door. There was no sign of Aunt May. Peter scurried around the hall – she hadn’t seen him naked in ages, and thus had no idea that he had suddenly developed the body of someone who lived at the gym – and into his room. The dirty clothes went in the hamper to be washed as soon as possible, hopefully before Aunt May got her hands on him.

Then he quickly dressed, shivering again in the cool air, and glanced in the mirror. The sad, tired-looking boy staring back didn’t exactly inspire confidence. Peter sighed at his reflection and ran a hand through his damp hair as his stomach growled. What he really wanted, more than anything, was some warm milk. But after today, he’d settle for whatever Aunt May had pulled together.


	5. Chapter 5

Dinner was a quiet affair, with a heavy silence broken only by the sound of cutlery scraping against the plates. Peter kept his eyes on his food and pretended like he didn't notice Aunt May casting him worried looks. He ate more because he needed the calories than because he was hungry; when his plate was empty, he set his fork down rather than go back for seconds like he usually did. 

Aunt May set her glass down with a light thump. "I think you should stay home from school tomorrow," she said.

Peter glanced over at her in surprise. "Really? But aren't you afraid that I'll get behind?"

"I have every confidence that you'll be able to catch up on whatever you miss. Ned can bring you your schoolwork tomorrow night." Aunt May drummed her fingers on the table and Peter frowned. There was something else she wasn't saying, but which she was trying to work up the courage to say, and it gave him a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He suddenly regretted eating his dinner. The hollowness of hunger would've been far preferable at the moment.

"Okay, sure," he said quietly. It was probably a bad idea - Flash would just take that as further proof that he'd gotten to Peter, which meant he would be even more annoyingly smug than he already was - but the thought of not having to face everyone at school was too tempting to give up on. He'd be able to patrol a little longer tonight and maybe even sleep in tomorrow. 

But then Aunt May cleared her throat and said, "I made an appointment with a caregiver."

"What?!" Peter squeaked, horrified.

She looked at him squarely, not flinching. "I was hoping that this wouldn't affect you biologically as much as it could, and it's still early days yet," she said carefully. "But it could get worse. A lot worse. And it could happen fast. I've seen it. Some of the stories I've heard, the things I've seen, I wouldn't wish that on anyone, much less a Little. I think it's important that you meet someone who can care for you appropriately before you're really settled into your headspace. They say that's when it's easiest to form a bond and get comfortable with someone."

Peter swallowed and went pale. This was exactly what he _didn't_ need. "I can't have a caregiver following me around school! That would be a dead give away!"

"Of course they wouldn't follow you to school," she soothed, putting her hand over his in a gesture that was clearly meant to be comforting. "It would just be someone who could be here with you at night."

"Like a baby-sitter," he said hotly.

"No, not a baby-sitter." Aunt May shook her head, pursing her lips. He recognized that face and realized with a sinking feeling that a baby-sitter would be a hell of a lot cheaper than a caregiver. Unfortunately, baby-sitters for Littles could be hard to come by, especially for Littles with a headspace as young as Peter's. 

"Aunt May, you can't afford that," Peter told her. 

She puffed up indignantly. "Don't you tell me what I can and can't afford, young man. You are my nephew and I will do whatever it takes to make sure you are taken care of, just as I promised your mother and father," she said sharply.

Her tone stung, and Peter pulled his hand away.

Aunt May immediately softened. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to - I just don't want you worrying about money. That's never something that a kid needs to worry about, Pete."

"But I do worry," Peter mumbled, staring down at his plate again. How could he not when he saw all of the hours that Aunt May worked? Sometimes there were weeks where they barely saw each other because she'd be pulling double shifts and therefore still sleeping when Peter left for school and already gone for work by the time he got home. She had always done everything she could to make sure that he had what he needed and he _hated_ the thought that this was yet another expensive item being added to her already long list. 

Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if Aunt May regretted taking him in. After all, they weren't related by blood… 

"You shouldn't. I'm the adult here. I'm capable of figuring things out," Aunt May said, reaching over to take his hand again. "I know that things haven't been easy for us since your uncle passed away, but I want to make sure you have what you need. And I really do think that you need a caregiver, Peter. Even if it's just someone to be here with you at night. What if you slipped into your headspace while I was at work? What would you do?"

Peter would do what he'd always done, which was take care of himself. But he didn't want to say as much to Aunt May, because he knew that would only upset her. She carried a lot of guilt about having to work as much as she did, even though it was for Peter's benefit. Still, he'd long since gotten used to putting himself to bed. That hadn't changed at all now that his classification was official. If anything, though he would never admit it to her, Aunt May's absence had actually helped in a lot of ways. He didn't think he'd be able to hide everything if a caregiver was around.

In response to his silence, Aunt May nodded. "That's what I thought. And honestly, a caregiver might be able to evaluate you and see what your headspace is like. How old you really are, how likely you are to slip, that sort of thing. Plus, being able to go into your headspace at night means that you're less likely to slip during the day."

"Really?" Peter said before he could stop himself.

Aunt May smiled at him. "Really. No Little can fight off their headspace forever; eventually you _will_ go into it, and that hasn't happened for you yet. So having a caregiver who can help you do so in a safe, controlled environment for the first time would be best." She was slipping into nurse mode, acting like she was giving a lecture to her younger colleagues. "I've already made an appointment with someone."

"Who?" Peter asked nervously.

"Her name is Thérèse," Aunt May replied. "She was recommended by one of my coworkers."

Some tiny part of Peter had been hoping that Aunt May would say it was Tony Stark. Peter hadn't even realized that until he felt his hopes get crushed when she confirmed it wasn’t, and then he felt stupid. _Of course_ it wasn’t Mr. Stark. 

Aunt May didn’t seem to notice, adding, “While you were in the shower, I set up an appointment with her for tomorrow. I really want you to give her a chance.”

“Okay,” Peter said with a sigh, because he didn’t see how he could do anything else. His stomach churned with renewed guilt as Aunt May smiled at him. Even with the money she had surely applied for from the government, he knew that his aunt couldn’t afford this. Yet she would just get frustrated if he tried to say no now, after he had already brought up money.

He wanted to go out for patrol once dinner was over, but Aunt May insisted they sit down and watch a movie together. Then she followed him into his room – thankfully, the spider suit was no where in sight – and lingered while he got ready for bed. Peter hoped she would get the hint and leave, but when she didn’t, he had no choice but to crawl into bed. Then Aunt May came over to tuck him in.

“It’ll be okay, honey,” she said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Now, I’m going to leave my door open tonight in case you need me, okay? Good night.”

“Good night,” Peter mumbled, inwardly cursing. Usually they both slept with their doors shut due to Aunt May’s odd hours. But if she had her door open, he couldn’t risk slipping out.

He rolled over to face the wall as she left, knowing that he was in for a sleepless night. Whenever he closed his eyes, memories of Flash’s mocking expression appeared. He tossed and turned for hours until finally, he gave up and got up. He sat down at his computer and saw that Ned had emailed the day’s assignments. Peter sighed, dragged his schoolbag closer with his foot, and got to work.

One benefit to staying up all night was that he didn’t need to do an early morning clean-up. Aunt May met him coming out of the bathroom at just after six, smothering a yawn with her hand. Her expression went from sleepy to worried when she saw him, which Peter took to mean he wasn’t looking so hot. He pasted on a smile and quickly went to get dressed.

“I picked up a shift today,” Aunt May said as they ate breakfast. “It starts at noon. Thérèse will be here at 10am. If you’re not comfortable staying alone with her, I’ll stay.”

Peter shook his head. “I’ll be fine. What time is she supposed to be here until?”

“Just until 1pm. It’s best not to keep the first appointment too long,” Aunt May told him. 

Three hours sounded like more than long enough. Peter finished eating as fast as he could and then escaped back into his room, throwing himself into homework.

But time was not his friend.

At exactly one minute to ten, there was a knock.

“Peter!” Aunt May called.

Peter sighed and got up.

He made it to the living room just as Aunt May was opening the door to let in a tall woman who was dressed in what had to be a tailored black suit. Her dark hair was drawn back in a tight French braid. She looked at Peter, expression blank. Peter chewed his lower lip, dropping his eyes to the floor to take in the four-inch stiletto heels she was wearing. All in all, Thérèse looked more like she belonged with Pepper Potts in a meeting room taking the business world by storm than a caregiver for Littles.

“Good morning,” Thérèse said, her voice lightly accented. 

“Good morning and thank you for coming on such short notice. This is my nephew, Peter.” Aunt May stepped back towards Peter, resting a hand on his arm.

Thérèse gave a single, sharp nod. “I read his files. You are a baby, correct?”

Hearing it spoken so bluntly, and in _that_ way, made Peter’s face burn. “I’m _not_ a baby,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Hmm,” Thérèse said, then turned to Aunt May. “I can already see a few problems. Some Littles are very resistant to accepting their classification. Some require a firmer hand than others.”

“What do you mean by a firmer hand?” Aunt May said, narrowing her eyes.

“Stricter rules,” Thérèse replied. “Early bedtimes, the use of sippy cups or bottles, a pre-set schedule that is always adhered to… that sort of thing. Treating them the same way you would a normal child of the same age.”

Peter didn’t like the sound of that at all. 

But Aunt May was nodding. “That makes sense. I’m afraid that poor Peter hasn’t had much support in this so far. I’m very busy and my job as a nurse keeps me away from home a lot. Also, I think I told you this, I’m not a caregiver. Being a nurse just isn’t the same thing. I’m very worried about not being able to give Peter what he needs.” She squeezed Peter’s arm.

Thérèse smiled confidently. “Don’t worry, May. That’s why I’m here. I’ve helped dozens of Littles learn to accept who they are. I have no doubt I’ll have just as much success with your nephew.”

“I have school,” Peter said, uncomfortable when both women looked at him. “So…”

“Yes, we can take that into consideration,” Thérèse said, her eyes flicking over him briefly. “There _are_ some Littles who are capable of maintaining an adult life outside of their headspace, but I’ve come to realize those Littles are few and far between. Most often, I find that Littles don’t know _what_ they need. That’s why they have caregivers, so that we can make those decisions for you.” 

“Well, we’re interested in whatever advice or suggestions you can offer,” Aunt May said, which was not what Peter was thinking. 

He was thinking that Thérèse sounded like trouble.


	6. Chapter 6

Aunt May wanted to start by giving Thérèse a tour of their apartment, which didn't take long considering that there was just two bedrooms, the bathroom, the living room, and the kitchen for her to look at. Peter sat on the couch and anxiously watched them walk around, his leg bouncing restlessly. There was no point in following them around, not when he could hear every word as easily as though they were standing right beside him, yet he couldn't help twisting his head to see which direction they were walking in. His stomach twisted when Aunt May opened his bedroom door.

" - it's just the two of us, so Peter has his own bedroom," Aunt May was saying. "We share a bathroom between the two of us, but as I've said I spend a lot of time at work. Sometimes I feel like I live there and commute here." She gave a forced little laugh, even though Peter knew she wasn't actually joking.

"It's a good sized room," Thérèse said pleasantly. "Though..." She trailed off.

"What?" Aunt May said. Peter chewed his lower lip, picking out the thread of worry in her voice. No, not worry - uncertainty. Like she was afraid of being judged.

"I would never know that this is the bedroom of a Little," said Thérèse. "Particularly one with a headspace as young as your nephew's. There are no age-appropriate toys, for example. Not even a stuffed toy."

"Ah, well." Aunt May was quiet for a moment. Peter craned his neck to see them and saw that Aunt May was staring into his bedroom like she had never seen the space before. 

"This looks like a normal teenager's bedroom," Thérèse noted.

That's because _it is_ a normal teenager's bedroom, Peter wanted to yell. He had to choke back the words, because he knew they wouldn't be well received. He had a sudden image of Thérèse and Aunt May stripping his bedroom down and outfitting it to look like - what? A nursery? His stomach churned at the thought and he scraped his thumb over his lower lip. God, he would never be able to bring Ned around again if that's what they decided to do. And what would happen to his computer? To his projects and movies and books?

"I never thought about it like that," said Aunt May at last.

"That's alright, May. That's why I'm here," Thérèse said soothingly, putting a hand on Aunt May's shoulder. "It can be a hard adjustment to make sometimes, but I'm here to help you take it in steps. However, I do believe that a Little's environment can have a huge impact on their well-being. Especially those who, as I mentioned earlier, have a hard time accepting their classifications. Sometimes their surroundings need to change to help them accept change on the _inside_."

"Of course," Aunt May said, nodding enthusiastically. 

It sounded like a load of bullshit to Peter.

"Typically, it's best if we can set up the nursery in a different area from the Little's bedroom," Thérèse went on. 

God, she'd said the word. Peter wanted to die.

"But I understand that you're limited on space. So..." Thérèse glanced around at the room again.

"We could divide Peter's room in half," Aunt May ventured. "It's a good-sized room. Or maybe he could have part of the living room. I could toss out that old chair in the corner."

"I'm sure we can think of a solution. I've worked with clients in much smaller homes than yours," Thérèse said, smiling.

"I like my room the way it is," Peter said, but neither woman seemed to be listening.

"We don't have anything for Littles here, though," Aunt May said, a frown crossing her face. 

"That's quite alright. We might have to do some shopping. I can help you apply for some grants. There are special programs that will help too, and I know all the best sites to buy things from. Peter will need baby things, but we can make it work." 

The word made the hair on the back of Peter's neck prickle. He suddenly realized his thumb had been inching into his mouth; he whipped his hand away and, for good measure, sat on both his hands to prevent it from happening again.

"Does he have difficulty controlling his bladder and bowels?" Thérèse asked then.

"Hey!" Peter said, mortified.

Aunt May looked at Peter, then back at Thérèse. "Well... I'm not sure. I don't think so, but - that is very common for young Littles." She furrowed her eyebrows. "Peter?"

"I - I - " Peter could feel his face growing hot. Aunt May was looking at him expectantly, clearly waiting for him to answer. But Thérèse was looking at him in a way that felt nothing short of condescending, like she already knew what he was going to say.

"It's okay, Peter," she said. "I think that means yes, doesn't it? It's not uncommon for babies or toddlers to try and hide their difficulties. They're all a bit embarrassed by it at first," she added knowingly. "But once you see how useful a pull-up or diaper is, you'll -"

"What?!" Peter exclaimed, horrified. "I'm not - hell no!"

"Peter!" Aunt May said sharply.

"We'll have to discuss disciplinary measures too, I see," Thérèse said, this time giving Peter a reproving look. "Punishing a Little is a bit different from handling a contrary teenager."

"He's not usually like this in front of company," Aunt May said.

"I am not wearing a pull-up! Or - or - that other thing!" Peter cried, jumping to his feet. "There's no way that's happening!" The very idea of it was mortifying. And what would he do if Flash found out? He had to change in the locker room with all of the other guys for gym. They would surely notice and the torment would be unreal.

Thérèse eyed him. "So you're telling me you have perfect control of yourself?"

"Yes," Peter said, which was a blatant lie, but he didn't care. 

"Hmm," she said, looking like she didn't believe him for a moment. "Well. We can discuss that at a later time, I suppose. I do usually advise that Littles be made to wear age-appropriate clothing inside the home, and diapers are a part of that for babies. It's helpful to avoid accidents. Even a small measure of control usually dissolves while a Little is in their headspace."

"I. Don't. Need. Them," Peter said sharply. There was no way in hell this woman was putting a diaper on him. He'd set an alarm for every hour of the night if he had to, or he'd resist going into his headspace, or - or whatever he needed to do.

"That's not a necessity, of course. Peter, we're doing this to help you. Nothing will happen that you're not comfortable with," Aunt May said, walking over to him. She gave him a hug and, after a tense moment, Peter let himself relax into her arms.

But over her shoulder, he saw the look on Thérèse’s face. Her superior expression made Peter feel like he was on edge. It was obvious that she thought she knew better than either Aunt May or Peter. He wanted to yell at her some more, but he knew that would only upset Aunt May – and he had the feeling that the more he yelled, the more childish he came across. He needed to be calm and grown-up.

“I really don’t feel those are necessary,” he said, aiming for dignified. “I haven’t noticed any problems I can’t control, Auny May.”

“Then we’ll put them off the table for now,” Aunt May said, pulling back to look at him worriedly. 

“And I don’t think I need a nursery either,” Peter said. But he got the sense he was pushing for too much when Aunt May frowned.

“Peter, I know you’re finding this to be a hard adjustment. But you _are_ a Little whether you like it or not, and I agree with Thérèse in this respect. It’s going to be important for you to have a safe space where you can be in your headspace, and you won’t want to let go in a place like your bedroom when it’s filled with so many reminders of your big life,” she said.

“But what about when Ned comes over? He can’t see my bedroom looking like that!”

“Then we’ll rearrange the furniture and find you a corner out here,” Aunt May said.

That was far from ideal – Peter couldn’t see how he’d be comfortable acting like a baby out in the open, where Aunt May or anyone who happened to stop by to visit could see. He wanted to keep all that stuff behind closed doors. But he could tell that Aunt May wasn’t going to give in, and to keep arguing would just make Aunt May feel bad about the fact that she couldn’t afford a three bedroom apartment or something like that. 

So he sighed, and said, “I guess it’s okay in my bedroom, so long as whatever it is can easily be put away if Ned drops by.”

Aunt May beamed at him. “We’ll figure something out,” she promised, squeezing Peter’s shoulder. “I know how important it is to you to keep your classification a secret. Thérèse, do you have any suggestions?”

“Absolutely. There are some playpens you can buy that can be quickly folded up,” Thérèse said, consulting her phone. “You could also buy something to divide the room in half… like dressing screens, or even hanging a sheet from the ceiling. Curtains would do as well. I suppose it depends on how much of an issue storage is, but there _are_ options.”

“A curtain might work,” Aunt May said thoughtfully, leaving Peter to walk past Thérèse into Peter’s bedroom. Thérèse joined her while Peter stared after them in dismay.

A curtain? Really? That was their grand plan? He’d have to stick by Ned’s side like a hawk, making sure that Ned never went near the curtain. Because Peter knew his best friend: Ned could get curious sometimes. And even if he could keep Ned away from the curtain, he’d spent the whole time absolutely paranoid that the curtain was going to miraculously fall down.

It was looking more and more likely that he wouldn’t be inviting Ned over again anytime soon.

He sighed and sat down again, shoulders slumped. He didn’t begrudge Aunt May for anything, but damn it would be nice to live somewhere with a little more space. If they were really insisting on him doing this, then he wanted it to be completely separate from his current life. But there was no way Aunt May could afford a three-bedroom apartment in New York City. They’d have to move outside, and then what would she do for work and what would Peter do about school?

Briefly, he let his thoughts wander to what it would be like if Tony Stark was his caregiver. Peter had never been inside the tower, but he had heard the same stories as everyone else. Something like the top dozen floors were reserved for living space. It would be no problem at all for Peter to have two bedrooms in a place like that. Then he could just close the door if anyone came by.

Mr. Stark would probably go all out in buying stuff, too. He’d only want the best for his Little. And he would never try to force Peter into diapers! No, he was certain that Mr. Stark would be totally understanding about that. He wouldn’t stand for Thérèse’s condescending, patronizing nonsense, either. In fact, he was positive that Mr. Stark wouldn’t have hired Thérèse in the first place. He’d _listen_ to Peter…

“ – have to baby proof the apartment,” Thérèse was saying, and Peter’s head snapped up as they came out of the bedroom.

A little wave of guilt went through him. Aunt May was doing her best. She was trying to listen to Peter while also navigating something that she was unfamiliar with. Neither one of them were experts here, so it made sense that Aunt May had reached out to someone who _was_ an expert. Just because Peter didn’t like what that expert was saying didn’t mean Aunt May was doing badly.

“Of course. I’m afraid I have to leave for work now, but Peter – would you mind helping Thérèse look around for what needs to be done?” Aunt May looked at him hopefully. 

And Peter couldn’t say no. Not with all the sacrifices she’d made, and was continuing to make, because of him. He had to give Thérèse a shot.

“Sure, Aunt May,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’d be happy to.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where I start pulling in details from Homecoming. Tony will make another appearance again soon!

It was official: Peter was never going to be able to invite Ned over to the apartment again. He lay on his bed, staring numbly at the ceiling. When he thought of all the recommendations Thérèse had left for Aunt May last night, it made his insides shrivel up. Apparently Thérèse thought that Peter was going to lose all common sense when he went into his headspace, because she had even recommended covering up the plug-ins.

As though Peter was going to walk around trying to stick his fingers in the sockets!

Ned could be kind of oblivious, but there was no way he would fail to notice something like that. Peter supposed he could make up an excuse about Aunt May baby-sitting for a friend, but it would be too easy for Ned to realize that something was off. And even if Ned did buy it, that excuse wouldn’t fly forever. The thought of Ned figuring out what he was made Peter shudder.

In the distance, he heard the second stair outside the apartment squeak. Aunt May was home. Sure enough, the front door opened a couple minutes later. Peter listened to the sounds of his aunt sighing as she took off her coat and kicked off her shoes. Her next step, he knew, would be to walk straight into the kitchen, open the fridge, and take out her favorite wine. 

She would also be looking at the list. He grimaced at the thought and contemplated pretending to be asleep, but this kind of talk was going to be inevitable. Might as well have it now. Sighing heavily, he sat up and swung his legs over the bed just as Aunt May appeared at the door. She was holding the paper in her hands and looking at Peter with an uncertain expression.

“How did things go between you and Thérèse after I left?” she asked tentatively.

“It was… okay,” Peter said. “She wrote up that list for you. There’s a lot of things on it.” He watched Aunt May carefully. Thérèse had talked a lot about grants and special programs that Aunt May could apply for, but he didn’t know if they would be approved for any of them. And that didn’t help right now. Things like that took a while to apply for, and even longer to approve. He didn’t know what they were going to do for money in the meantime.

“I see that,” Aunt May said, glancing briefly at the list. “I’ll have to start looking into some of the things on here.”

“Aunt May, I don’t know that everything on that list is necessary. I think Thérèse went a little overboard. I don’t need a nursery,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“But Peter, you’ve never been into your headspace. Maybe Thérèse is right and you need the right environment.”

Peter didn’t say anything for a moment, dropping his gaze. How was he supposed to tell her that it didn’t matter what kind of environment he had? He would never feel comfortable dropping into his headspace around Aunt May, much less a stranger like Thérèse. With Aunt May, he would always be worried about being even more of a burden on her. With Thérèse, it would just be too weird.

It was _all_ too weird.

“Maybe I could – I could try without all that first,” he said slowly. “I haven’t really tried before.” In fact, he wasn’t sure what it meant to fall into his headspace. Some of the paperwork he’d gotten from the government held vague references, and he’d done a little research on his own – though admittedly, most of his research was garnered more towards how to _not_ go into his headspace, but Aunt May didn’t need to know that.

“You mean with Thérèse?” Aunt May said.

“Maybe,” Peter said vaguely. “I might not even need that. Some Littles don’t really need to go into their headspace, right?”

“No. All Littles need to go into their headspace. It’s a biological necessity,” Aunt May said, frowning at him now. “It can cause real problems down the line if you fight it.”

“I’m not fighting it,” Peter lied. “It’s just… an adjustment, that’s all.” He pasted on a fake smile. 

Unfortunately, she didn’t look convinced. “Well, I’ve asked Thérèse to come stay with you after school tomorrow. She’s going to speak to you about your routine and give you some suggestions. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” Peter mumbled, exhaling loudly. School. He’d been trying not to think about going back. At this point, he wasn’t sure whether the idea of Thérèse or Flash bothered him more. The combination of the two of them was a terrible thought. 

He needed a distraction.

“Hey, Aunt May, I need to spend some time on my Stark internship work. Would it be okay if I shut the door for a while?” he asked.

Aunt May nodded. “I’m going to take a shower, have something to eat, and watch television for a bit,” she said, which was what she usually did after a long shift. Peter took a closer look at her, realizing that she looked exhausted. His stomach twisted with guilt as he wondered whether she had been staying up late to worry. She probably hadn’t been sleeping well, and her job was physically demanding.

But at least that meant he could count on her passing out on the couch within the next half hour.

She left the room, and Peter spent several minutes puttering around his room and loudly typing on his computer. He was actually working on a History paper that Ned had emailed him about – an email that was otherwise short and sweet, with no mention of what had happened – but Aunt May didn’t need to know that. When he thought enough time had passed, he got up and very quietly opened the door. He stuck his head out in the hall to look.

Sure enough, his aunt was sound asleep. The television was playing quietly, some talk show, and her feet were up on the coffee table. Her untouched microwave dinner was rapidly cooling on the couch beside her; there was a half-drunk glass of wine on the coffee table beside her feet. In the darkened room, with only the light from the television, Aunt May looked _old_. He didn’t know when she’d gotten those lines on her face, but the sight of them made him feel simultaneously worried and guilty.

He wished he could do more. _Be_ more. When he was younger, he’d always told her that someday she wouldn’t have to worry about anything because Peter was going to take care of her. Aunt May had always laughed and told him he just needed to focus on growing up right. But he still wanted to make that happen. She deserved it. But how was he going to do that now, when all he was doing was adding more stress to her life?

Though it risked waking her, Peter crept over, grabbed the blanket that lay along the chair, and covered her up. Then he backed away, heading into his room. He gently shut the door behind him and stood there for a moment, staring at the floor. If Aunt May woke up and realized he was gone, she would be more panicked than ever. But he really needed to get out…

After a moment’s struggle, he decided that the likelihood of her waking up was pretty small and removed his clothing. He slipped on the suit and tapped the chest, loving the way that it instantly shrank into place. Wearing the Spider-Man suit made him feel like a grown up, like all of his problems when it came to being a Little just slipped away and didn’t matter anymore. Spider-Man was a hero. A _superhero_. He was no Little.

“Alright, let’s do this,” he whispered, cracking his window. He jumped out without looking back.

For a few glorious minutes, Spider-Man just swung his way through downtown New York. It was blissful to be out above the streets in the cool night air. He stopped a bicycle thief from taking off with a stolen bike and managed to stop a little girl from running out into traffic. One he’d deposited the crying girl into the arms of her relieved mother, he quickly scaled the nearest apartment building and perched on top.

The city moved beneath him, all of them unaware of his presence. Spider-Man pulled one leg up to his chest and rested his chin on his knee. Running around helping people was fine – well, it was fine when he was actually helping. That car jacker who wasn’t actually a car jacker hadn’t been very happy, and neither were his neighbors. That was one thing he wouldn’t be mentioned in his report to Happy!

Well, actually he wouldn’t be mentioning _anything_ in his report to Happy because he wasn’t going to do one. What was the point? He was pretty sure that neither Mr. Stark nor Happy actually read them. They didn’t want anything to do with him, so he knew he should stop bothering them. Rescuing little girls and bikes wasn’t interesting for an actual superhero and his employee, and if he wasn’t careful Mr. Stark might get fed up enough to take the Spider-Man suit back.

God, going back to sweatpants at this point would just be the most depressing thing ever.

“I just want to help,” he said out loud, his voice sounding oddly plaintive. He wanted to do more, but no one seemed to think he was capable of it and that bothered him.

And then he heard it: a thin, high-pitched whine that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Curious, Spider-Man stood and followed the sound to the far end of the roof. He was just in time to see four men breaking into a closed bank.

“Finally,” Spider-Man breathed, a thrill of delight running through him. A bank robbery was pretty cool, right?

He jumped down to the street and headed into the bank after them. To say that he was surprised to see them wearing cheap, plastic Avengers masks was an understatement, but Spider-Man wasn’t going to let that stop him. The tech that they had was strange and not like anything he was used to; had he the time to stop, he would’ve pulled out his phone to take pictures because he definitely wanted to research them later.

But with four against one, there wasn’t much time to stop. Especially when one of the guys pulled out a high-tech device that emitted plasma blasts. Spider-Man dodged the first couple and then swore under his breath when the grocery store across the street burst into flames.

“Dude, come on! Run!” one of the robbers shouted.

“Hey wait!” Spider-Man yelled, shooting a panicked look at the grocery store. Inexplicably, the urge to cry welled up in his chest. 

Iron Man never would have let this happen. Iron Man would’ve smoothly dealt with the bad guys before they had the chance to hurt anyone. Iron Man would’ve had those four trussed up for the cops before anyone had a chance to blink.

Iron Man wouldn’t have had to choose between stopping the bad guys and making sure the grocery store was empty.

Blinking rapidly, Spider-Man sprinted across the street. That was the first time he’d come into contact with fire since getting his new suit, and it was only then that he realized that the suit had some protective measures built in. The flames weren’t nearly as hot as they would have been otherwise, and, when he took a deep breath even in the heart of the fire, it was untainted oxygen that went into his lungs.

Did his suit have an oxygen tank built in? Mr. Stark really had thought of everything.

Later, once the cops and firefighters had shown up, Spider-Man sat alone on the top of the apartment building again. There was a suspicious heaviness in his chest that he was refusing to pay attention to; he had to keep blinking to hold back the tears. He had screwed _that_ up big time. All he wanted to do was help people, but it seemed like he consistently screwed up instead. This cool, incredible suit to work with and Spider-Man couldn’t even stop a bank robbery!

He briefly contemplated texting Happy or Mr. Stark to tell them about the weird weaponry but decided against it. With only his description to go off of, that wouldn’t be helpful – and he didn’t want to admit how badly he’d messed up. So instead, he hunched his shoulders and quietly got up to make his way home.


	8. Chapter 8

Going back to school the next morning _sucked_. Peter hunched his shoulders and tried to make himself look small as he headed into the building, hoping that no one would pay him any attention. Unfortunately, all it took was one girl catching sight of him. She nudged her friend and whispered, and then one by one other students began turning to stare.

And then someone giggled.

Peter’s ears burned and he curled in on himself even more, staring fixedly at the ground. He walked faster, practically tripping up the steps in his rush to get to the second floor. His stomach churned when he spotted Flash and a couple of his buddies hanging around his locker, and he quickly turned to go back in the other direction. He could get through the first couple of periods without books.

He was the first person into Chemistry, a fact which made Peter relieved. He scuttled over to his table and took a seat, pressing a shaking hand to his forehead. Just being here was making his senses go haywire, and he really wished he could have stayed home – but that would have meant admitting to Aunt May that he was worried about returning, and then Aunt May would get all upset, and Peter just couldn’t deal with that right now.

The door opened and Peter’s heart skipped a beat. When he looked up, Michelle was sauntering into the room. She had a thick book tucked under her left arm and her backpack in her right hand. They looked at each other for a moment, and Peter braced himself. He would have called Michelle a friend, but he wasn’t sure how she would feel about that now – and Michelle could be really sharp sometimes…

“Hey,” Michelle said after a split-second pause.

“Hi,” Peter said softly.

Surprisingly, Michelle seemed to consider that enough. She nodded at him and then walked over to her seat in the corner; she sat down, dropped her backpack beside her, and promptly shoved her nose into her book. Peter watched her out of the corner of his eye and slowly relaxed when it became obvious that she didn’t intend to pursue their conversation, such as it was, further.

Other students began to trickle in as the time for class to start neared. Ned was one of them. He marched over to Peter and took a seat right beside him, and Peter breathed a bit easier. Thank goodness for his best friend. He offered Ned a fist, and Ned smiled as they gently fist bumped. 

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“I’ve been better,” Peter admitted, trying to keep his voice down. 

“Yeah, I bet.” Ned put his bag own on the desk, ‘accidentally’ shielding Peter from a few of the stares. “If it helps, nothing happened after you took off. Ms. Townes came in and yelled at Flash for getting the class all riled up, and then she told everyone to sit down and class started.”

Peter pursed his lips, saying nothing to that. He wasn’t sure what Ms. Townes would think of him now. She probably didn’t blame Flash for this. He hoped that this situation didn’t come back to bite him in the ass academically. It was hard enough to keep his grades up as it was.

“No one even talked about it much after that, because at lunch Liz told everyone she was having a party,” Ned went on.

“She is?” Peter said, glancing over at Liz automatically. She was a pretty girl, the sort of girl that Peter had always thought he should be attracted to – though now, of course, he understood why he didn’t feel that way for anyone. 

Still, she was an easy cover. Why not pretend to have a crush on someone who was so completely out of his league that he’d never have to worry about dating? It would make people think that he was normal.

“Not like it matters. We’re certainly not on the invite list,” Ned said dryly. “She already passed out all the invitations and I’m sorry to tell you that we didn’t make the cut.”

“Too bad,” Peter said, letting himself sigh wistfully which prompted a thoughtful glance from Ned. 

“I dunno, I bet the party will suck,” Ned muttered, but he was clearly jealous that he hadn’t gotten an invite, Peter could tell. It made Peter feel a tiny bit bad, because he wasn’t that disappointed that he wouldn’t be going. It was easier this way. Going to the party would mean having to talk to Aunt May, and then dealing with Thérèse, and then avoiding Flash. He just couldn’t see that ending well.

“It probably will,” Peter said diplomatically. Their teacher came in then, which luckily ended the conversation.

Ned turned out to be right. At lunch time, the hot topic in the cafeteria was Liz’s party. That was all anyone wanted to gossip about, and Peter was deeply relieved about that. He did catch Flash smirking in his direction a few times, but he didn’t actually approach Peter, so Peter counted himself lucky. Maybe Flash thought he’d gotten as much mileage out of the situation as he was going to get.

Or maybe Flash was just waiting for the opportune moment. He was an asshole like that, and he wasn’t going to give up until Tony Stark showed up at the campus or until Peter admitted that it had all been a lie. Since the former wasn’t going to happen, Peter made sure to avoid Flash for the remainder of the day. He headed straight out the door as soon as the bell rang, grateful that he didn’t need to worry about the decathlon team. It would’ve been too easy for Flash to corner him.

Unfortunately, that meant he had to deal with Thérèse. 

She was waiting for him when he got home from school, arms folded. Peter regretted bouncing up the stairs as exuberantly as he had, because her gaze snapped to him immediately and then it was too late to run away no matter how much he wanted to. He froze on the top step and felt a line of sweat break out across his forehead when she smiled at him.

“Hi, Peter. How was your day at school?” she asked. Her voice sounded different, a little higher-pitched and breathy. Like the way an adult would if they were talking to a toddler. He immediately wanted to snap back at her but refrained. If he snapped, or if he refused to answer, she would see that as him being childish. And that would just give her cause to patronize him even more. No, he had to stay calm and focused and think like an adult as much as possible. 

So he smiled back at her and said, “It was fine.” He moved closer to unlock the apartment door.

“That’s good. I know that bad days can be hard to handle for a Little,” she said loudly, and Peter fought the urge to cringe. God, any one of his neighbors could have heard that. He quickly opened the door and ushered her in, if only to get her out of the hallway.

“Bad days are hard for anyone,” he said, aiming for diplomacy but coming up short. He just sounded annoyed, probably because he’d never been very good at hiding what he was thinking or feeling. Aunt May used to tell him that it was good he didn’t want to be an actor, because he’d never make it on Broadway.

“True, true,” Thérèse murmured absently, looking around the apartment with sharp eyes. Her lips pursed and she tipped her chin up slightly, and Peter tensed. He just _knew_ that she was judging the apartment, and that meant she was judging Aunt May by extension.

But what was she judging it for? Surely she hadn’t expected Aunt May to run out last night and buy all that stuff Thérèse had listed? Even if Aunt May wanted to, and even if she had the money for it without having to apply to those grants and programs, Aunt May hadn’t got off work until it was late. Peter looked around too, trying to see the apartment with fresh eyes – but it just looked like a normal New York two-bedroom apartment to him.

In fact, it was pretty spacious for a New York apartment. Sometimes he wondered what would happen when Uncle Ben’s life insurance ran out and Aunt May was no longer able to use that money to supplement her salary. Peter had to make sure he was out the door and fully taking care of himself by that point – maybe even making enough money to help out Aunt May if she needed it.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked, hoping to distract Thérèse. 

“That would be lovely. It’s very warm out,” said Thérèse.

“Yeah,” Peter said, entering the kitchen. He grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and opened the fridge. There really wasn’t much to offer. Aunt May hadn’t gone grocery shopping yet this week, probably because she’d been so distracted by what was going on with Peter. He shook off the twinge of guilt and shut the fridge, turning to fill the glasses with tap water instead.

“Thank you,” Thérèse said as she took the proffered glass, but she was frowning slightly. Her frown deepened as Peter took a sip of his water, though he wasn’t sure why. 

Feeling petulant, he met her gaze and drank the whole glass down so quickly that some of it seeped out the corners of his mouth and dribbled down his chin. Embarrassed, Peter lowered the glass and wiped his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. Thérèse watched him in silence, eyes narrowed.

“Babies often do better with sippy cups,” she said suddenly.

“Sippy cups?” Peter repeated. “Wait… you mean like those dumb little kid cups that have the covers on them?” He tried not to sound as incredulous as he felt. 

“Yes. I had the feeling that you would resist the use of bottles, even though they would be ideal,” she said, and Peter couldn’t help pulling a horrified face. 

“I can get by just fine with a normal glass,” he said sharply. Sure, sometimes he drank too fast and ended up spilling whatever he was drinking. Or sometimes, if he was too tired, he’d spill what he was drinking because he wasn’t paying attention. But everyone did that, right? It didn’t mean he needed a sippy cup or a bottle.

Thérèse didn’t seem convinced. She put down her untouched glass and said, “Peter, I’m here to help you. I know that the process of adjustment can be difficult.”

“It’s not difficult,” Peter lied. In fact, the only thing that he found difficult was the fact that Thérèse wouldn’t go away. He had been handling things just fine before she came around.

“Yes, it is,” Thérèse said, not unkindly. “Like most Littles, I’m sure you recognized the signs in yourself and did what you could to hide them.”

Peter looked away, unwilling to meet her eyes, but in his peripheral vision he saw Thérèse nod knowingly.

“You’re a baby, so you must have trouble with your bladder and bowel control. Do you have night-time accidents? Do you visit the bathroom on a strict schedule to make sure you don’t have any accidents?” She stepped a little closer. “Do you struggle with controlling your emotions, or ever feel like the world is too big and you can’t handle it? Do you suck your thumb, or like having things in your mouth? Or do you –”

“None of that!” Peter snapped finally, his face hot. He was sure he must’ve been a shade of red that matched the Spider-Man suit. 

Thérèse just looked at him and said, “You can’t fight this, Peter. It’s part of your biology.”

“I’m not fighting it. I’m dealing with it in my own way,” Peter said through clenched teeth. The sudden, inexplicable urge to cry from frustration swept over him and he blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay. He didn’t like how close she was to the truth and he wanted her to stop, but he was pretty sure that if he said anything else his voice would break, and he’d cry.

He didn’t want her to see him cry.

Unfortunately, she wouldn’t stop, saying, “But you’re not dealing with it. You’re repressing it. All those urges are _natural_. You’re a baby, so you’re supposed to be feeling them. If you’d just –”

“I’m _not_ a baby!” Peter yelled before he could stop himself.

Thérèse recoiled, looking shocked.

He couldn’t stay here with her any longer, Peter realized. She probably wouldn’t leave if he told her to go; she’d just start spouting off some nonsense about how babies couldn’t be left alone, and that would just upset Peter more. Much as he was reluctant to leave her alone in the apartment – she would probably start snooping around – he just couldn’t handle this.

Without saying another word, he grabbed his backpack and ran out the door.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of dialogue in this chapter is borrowed from/loosely based on Homecoming.

How had he gotten here?

Beneath Spider-Man’s mask, Peter gritted his teeth and tried not to panic. His calves were burning as he tried to keep up with the van, which was much easier said than done. The van was careening wildly as the drivers fought to both keep it on the road and shake him off. Already, three other cars had been forced off the road. Spider-Man hoped that their occupants were okay, but there was no chance for him to actually check.

“Damn bug!” one of the men in the van yelled.

“Technically, I’m a spider,” Spider-Man muttered, but the words were spoken breathlessly. He couldn’t even muster the air necessary to yell.

A bright blue light suddenly burst from the van, leaving charred smoking pavement mere inches away from where Spider-Man’s boots touched down moments later. He yelped and hoped over that spot, then nearly tripped and fell face forward. One of the lines of web slipped from his grasp; panicking, he shot another one, but it went wide and didn’t connect.

There was a second burst of bright blue light. This time it severed the van door on the opposite side of where his webs were attached. Spider-Man leapt over the dislodged door but lost his balance. He screamed as he pitched forward and landed on his side. The van didn’t stop, now deliberately veering from side to side. Spider-Man was thrown into several garbage bins, then into the side of a parked car, and then into a little girl’s bicycle.

And then he hit a brick fence.

The webbing snapped out of his hands and he heard the men in the van laughing as they drove off. Fresh tears burned in his eyes as he quickly hoisted himself to his feet. His side throbbed from the impact, and his shoulders ached from being dragged, though the suit had done a good job at protecting his skin from the results of road rash, at least.

Still, Spider-Man was horribly aware that he was just failing on _all fronts_ right now. He’d run out on Thérèse because he couldn’t handle her, which meant Aunt May was going to be really disappointed. He had totally failed to deal with that bank robbery, and the grocery store had burned to a crisp as a result. And now he couldn’t even stop some jokers in a van. 

What kind of superhero was he? More than ever, he thought he understood why Happy and Mr. Stark had blown him off and the humiliation cut deep. His chin trembled, and the urge to just sit right there in a pile of broken bricks and cry was almost overwhelming. Under any other circumstances, he might have done just that.

But Spider-Man steeled himself, knowing that redemption might still be possible, and slowly began to jog up the sidewalk. It was humiliating to be making his way back downtown on foot, especially when his journey was hardly graceful, but he shook it off and fired another strand of webbing at the roof of the nearest building. He made his way north, eyes on the familiar black plume of smoke in the distance.

“Got you,” he whispered, flinging himself off the roof. 

Naturally, he missed. But that didn’t deter him. He took off after the van and launched himself into the air, using his webs to get closer. He was _almost_ there. He just had to get a _little_ closer –

And then arms caught him from behind.

“What the hell?” Spider-Man cried out, flailing frantically. He tried to reach back to swat at whoever was holding him, but he couldn’t get at the person. They were just out of reach.

His heart raced as they travelled higher above New York. He shot out a few webs, hoping to use them to tie himself down, but they weren’t strong enough and ripped free. Up, up, up – and then out over the water, so high up that Peter couldn’t even see the lights of the night ferry. He was torn between screaming in terror and swearing when he heard the person behind him let out what could only be described as a menacing laugh. 

Then there was a beep.

Suddenly Spider-Man was wrenched out of the person’s grip by a great pressure. He got a glimpse of glowing green eyes and wings and then suddenly he was falling. There was no choice this time. He screamed in terror as he fell, arms windmilling. That was a mistake. The lines of the parachute, because it _was_ a parachute he realized belatedly, got tangled around him, pulling the fabric in close. Rather than help to slow his descent, the parachute turned him into a cloth-shaped rocket hurtling towards the water.

Spider-Man managed to scream one last time before he plunged into the cold water. It was a shock to the system and unintentionally gasped, which was a mistake. A little bit of cold water seeped into his mouth and he instantly clamped his lips shut, knowing that he was screwed if he couldn’t get free. He started fighting even harder, struggling to get free, but now the fabric was wet and sodden and _heavy_. He could feel it dragging him deeper even as the burning in his muscles deepened in intensity.

No sooner had the terrifying thought that he wasn’t going to make it crossed his mind then suddenly there was a flash of white light and then the fabric was miraculously drifting away from him. Another something grabbed him beneath the arms and then he was being propelled upwards; his head broke the surface and he started taking in deep gulps of air while coughing up a storm.

But even then, he couldn’t help thinking of the monster who had dropped him in the sky – but when he wrenched his head around, he realized that it was the Iron Man suit holding him. There was no sign of the monster; no doubt whoever it was had fled when an Avenger showed up. Against his will, his muscles relaxed as he realized that meant he was safe. 

Once again, Spider-Man had fucked up. This time so badly that Iron Man had had to come save him. He might have been able to keep what had happened to the grocery store a secret, but there would be no playing this one off. Whatever opinion Iron Man had of him was undoubtedly going to plummet even further, and that was a very difficult thing to come to terms with. Embarrassment over his recent blunders had the back of his neck and his face growing hot from humiliation. 

Yet _Mr. Stark was here_. Even if the reason for him being here absolutely sucked, he was still here. Spider-Man clung to that thought, trying to breathe deeply while holding back the tears, and stayed quiet as Iron Man headed back towards land. He couldn’t help shuddering as they finally passed over the ground. He never wanted to go swimming again.

Iron Man set him down on top of a jungle gym in an empty playground. Spider-Man sank down onto the cold metal, shivering, and pulled his mask off; it was saturated with water and every time a stray droplet trickled over his lips, he couldn’t help shuddering. It was bad enough that the water was in his hair, on his face: the taste of it lingered in his mouth, and he belatedly hoped he wouldn’t get sick.

“So what was that?” Iron Man said, hovering just in front of him. Peter swallowed, avoiding looking the faceplate in the eye for too long. Cool, calm, collected, he reminded himself. Peter could do this. He quickly told Iron Man the story, omitting just a few parts that were too embarrassing. He was proud that he managed to keep his voice level the whole time.

“And then he just, like, swooped down like a monster,” he finished, wringing his mask out again for something to do. “He took me up, uh, like a thousand feet, and then I think… I think he like dropped me?” He actually couldn’t remember if the monster had dropped him or if the parachute had jerked him out of the monster’s grasp or both. The whole thing was blurring together into a terrifying smear he really wanted to just forget.

Iron Man remained silent. Judging. 

“Anyway, how’d you find me? Did you put a tracker in my suit or something?” Peter said, hoping that a subject change might help. He’d been able to control his shivers up until that point, but a particularly cold gust of wind made him lose control. The shiver rattled his teeth and Iron Man audibly sighed.

“I put everything in your suit. Including this heater,” he said.

“Wha – huh?” Peter gasped in amazement as the suit instantly dried, so quickly that a gush of steam rose from it. Even the mask, draped precariously across one of the metal bars of the jungle gym, dried. 

Unfortunately, that did little to help Peter himself. Though the suit was now warm, his skin still felt clammy and wet. His hair was plastered to his head and still dribbling water down the back of his neck. Still, it was a lot better than nothing and he opened his mouth to thank Mr. Stark, but Iron Man cut him off.

“What were you thinking? Do you know how dangerous that was?” Iron Man said. His voice sounded exactly the way Aunt May’s did when Peter did something she disapproved of. 

The urge to cry came rushing back, so strongly that Peter gasped again.

“You could have _drowned_ ,” Iron Man snapped. “If I hadn’t gotten that alert –”

“But you did,” Peter said. He hated the way his voice wavered. He didn’t want to cry, especially not in front of Iron Man, but he wasn’t sure he had a choice.

It was all _so much_. Too much. Thérèse and Aunt May, Flash and everyone at school, the continuous struggle of hiding who he was both as Spider-Man and as a Little, the realization that he had come within a hair of drowning tonight, the smell of urine in the air now that his suit was dry because of course he had wet himself at some point, and now Mr. Stark’s disappointment – 

“That’s not the point! There are people to handle this sort of thing. People who are actually trained for it. Not kids like you,” Iron Man ranted.

Kids like you.

Peter felt like someone had slapped him across the face.

It was absolutely the worst time to cry.

Naturally, he burst into tears.

“I just can’t believe you threw yourself into something so – wait, Peter? Peter, hey, what’s wrong?” Iron Man’s voice now held a distinct tinge of panic. “Are you hurt?”

Peter shook his head, unable to speak through the sobs. He’d been holding it in for so long and now that he was crying, he couldn’t stop no matter how much he wanted to. The sobs rattled up through his chest and into his throat and burst out even when he pressed a gloved hand to his mouth, and then the smell of the water just made him cry harder.

“Kid,” Iron Man said. The suit moved closer.

Peter cried harder.

He dropped his hand into his hands, hoping to somehow hide from Iron Man’s eyes. Which was stupid, of course, because Iron Man had already seen him crying, but it was the only thing he could do.

Iron Man was quiet for a few moments. Too quiet. Peter wanted to look up to see if Iron Man had left, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know which would be worse: if Iron Man was right there watching him have a meltdown, or if Iron Man had gotten disgusted and left.

“Peter,” Iron Man said finally. “I’m not actually here. I’m in – well, it doesn’t matter. I’m going to come home. It’ll probably take me about six hours to get there. In the meantime, the suit is going to take you to the tower. Is that okay?”

Peter wanted to tell Mr. Stark that he didn’t have to come home, but the words wouldn’t come. He curled up into a smaller, miserable fall, forgetting all about the fact that he was on top of a jungle gym until he slipped. But he didn’t fall very far; the Iron Man suit caught him, one arm securely winding around Peter’s back and the other arm looping under Peter’s knees.

“Come on,” Iron Man said, almost gently, and they flew away.


	10. Chapter 10

It didn’t take them long to make it to the tower, and Peter was grateful for that. He was also, as he lifted his tear-streaked face from the chest of the Iron Man suit, relieved that it was dark out. Though New York was well illuminated, the suit had flown higher and stuck to shadowed areas on the way to the tower. Hopefully, that meant no enterprising journalists would have pictures of Iron Man carting a bawling Spider-Man across New York.

The suit touched down roughly on the landing pad, a jolt that made Peter’s tears start up again. He gulped and tried as hard as he could not to keep crying, but it didn’t work. Now that the adrenaline was fading away, he was becoming much more conscious of the aches and pains in his body. Not just from nearly drowning, but also from being dragged behind that truck for several minutes and then being thrown into that wall. Everything hurt.

“Hello Peter,” FRIDAY said, as gently as an A.I. could. “Boss told me that you would be coming.”

“H-Hi Fr-FRIDAY,” Peter whispered, his voice coming out in an embarrassing stutter. FRIDAY was kind and could be very sweet if a little ignorant sometimes, but right now all he wanted to do was hide away from her. He wanted to hide away from _everyone_.

He felt small and tired and miserable, and he didn’t want anyone to see it. Especially not Mr. Stark’s A.I.

The suit started moving again unexpectedly and Peter tensed, letting out a soft squeak of distress. But all the suit did was move into the building. Peter looked around blankly and then let out another, louder sound when he realized where they were. He wasn’t super familiar with the tower, but this living room decorated with red walls and creamy gold furniture could only belong to one person.

Before he could react, the suit set him down on one of those couches. Peter paled as he realized that his gross suit was now touching Mr. Stark’s very expensive couch: his suit had been dried, but it had also been in the water and – his face went bright red. He’d _wet_ himself. He’d wet himself like a baby and now he was sitting on a couch that had probably cost several thousand dollars.

“No,” Peter croaked, mortified, and scrambled up.

Or at least, he tried to. The suit’s arm shot out and its hand landed on his chest, shoving him back down. Pain shot through his lungs, hot and bright, and Peter sank back with a whimper.

“Are you okay, Peter?” FRIDAY asked, alarmed.

“I’m – I –” Peter choked on the words and a fresh swell of tears, staring up at the suit in confused misery. It wasn’t Mr. Stark, and he _knew_ that, but he still couldn’t help imagining Mr. Stark’s disappointed, maybe even disgusted face staring down at him.

“Boss has given strict instructions that you’re not to leave until he arrives,” said FRIDAY. “He should be here within about five hours.”

Five hours was an eternity. Peter didn’t even know what time it was, so he had no idea whether five hours would be before or after sunrise. Would Aunt May get up in the morning and notice him gone? Or did she have an early shift? Sometimes that happened, and she was out the door long before Peter’s alarm went off. He didn’t want to make her worry… he should go…

But the suit’s hand was firm, unmoving, and it only backed off when Peter forced himself to relax into the couch. Still, even though it wasn’t touching him, it stood over him, clearly ready to intervene if Peter tried to get up again. Peter stared up at it in confused misery, realizing that he was well and truly stuck here. Mr. Stark was coming, and he was going to see Peter like _this_.

The tears came then, hotter and faster than ever, and all Peter could do was roll over, hide his face against the back of the couch, and cry.

\--

Tony pushed the armor hard on the way back to New York. He’d thought that he had put it through all the paces during the testing phase, but that turned out to be wrong. According to his data, he achieved an incredible new speed as he flew across the ocean towards the tower. At any other time, that was something that Tony would have celebrated. But not right now.

Not when the footage of Peter’s tear-stained face was staring at him, tugging at strings in Tony’s chest that he’d previously thought long dead.

“FRIDAY, how is he doing?” Tony asked for the tenth time.

“Same as before,” FRIDAY replied, yet she obligingly performed another scan of Peter’s body without Tony having to ask. New data flashed across Tony’s screen and he took it in quickly.

Considering everything that Peter had been through tonight, his body was in surprisingly good shape. Nothing was broken, which was a miracle considering that Peter had fallen hundreds of miles and hit a body of water while still at full speed. Not for the first time, Tony contemplated running a few tests on Peter to see just how advanced the kid’s body was. He’d have to look into that.

In the meantime, Peter had plenty of bruising on both the inside and outside of his body that was going to leave him sore for the next few days. He had also sprained his left wrist and had some cuts and scrapes. But all things considered, he was in good shape physically.

Mentally and emotionally were a whole other ballgame.

“FRI, Peter recently had his fifteenth birthday, right?” Tony said, hoping against hope that what he was thinking was not reality. 

He knew, of course, that Peter’s fifteenth birthday had been a couple of weeks ago. The information had somehow burned its way into Tony’s brain no matter how hard he tried not to think about it. He’d forced himself to let the occasion pass by without acknowledgement: birthday wishes were not a good way to separate himself from Peter the way he knew he needed to.

“Yes Boss,” FRIDAY confirmed

Tony stared at the data on Peter’s current status. He didn’t need to hack into the government and look at the results of Peter’s tests. A quick scan from FRIDAY… all he’d need was a sample of Peter’s blood…

But honestly, Tony didn’t think he even needed to go that far.

It was possible that Peter’s reaction tonight was just the reaction of an overwrought fifteen-year-old who was trying way too hard to play with the big boys. After all, Peter was still young, and he’d been through something traumatizing tonight that would freak out many adults: he’d come very close to drowning. Had probably thought he _was_ going to drown, not knowing that Tony had numerous trackers coded into Peter’s suit.

It was _possible_ … but something told Tony that it wasn’t likely. 

And if it wasn’t, what was he going to do about it?

He wrestled with that question all the way back to New York. Up until now, he had been firmly telling himself that Peter would be much better off if Tony kept a distance. Everything that Tony touched somehow turned to shit, and he wanted to protect Peter as much as possible. That was why he’d given Peter a much more advanced suit and then backed off.

He supposed he should’ve expected that Peter would poke his nose into a dangerous situation. After all, that’s exactly what any teenager with superpowers and an over-inflated sense of responsibility would do. The problem was that meant Peter was likely to do the same thing again. And next time, he might get himself into a situation that Iron Man wouldn’t be quick enough to save him from.

Just the thought of it made Tony shudder. He would have never forgiven himself had Peter drowned tonight. It would’ve remained on his conscience for the rest of eternity. Perhaps he should’ve been keeping a closer eye on Peter. He still didn’t think it would be right to get close to Peter in any way, but maybe he could get Happy to meet with the kid…

Then again, Happy was acting as Pepper’s bodyguard right now. So he didn’t have a ton of spare time: Pepper was a busy woman who had a lot of meetings and engagements. That probably wasn’t the right answer either. Tony frowned at himself, annoyed, as he landed on the balcony of the tower. No matter how much he spun it around in his brain, the ideal answer was eluding him.

The armor seamlessly retracted from around him and Tony sighed, stretching carefully. No matter how advanced the armor was, it still wasn’t comfortable to fly in for hours at a time. He padded quietly into the tower and headed for the living room, where he found a suit of armor in the corner and Peter Parker curled up on his couch.

“Has he tried to get up again?” Tony asked, moving closer to look down at the kid. FRIDAY had shown him the footage of Peter trying to get up, and it had damn near broken Tony’s heart. How could one kid tug at the heartstrings as much as this one did?

“No, Boss. He fell asleep about three hours ago. He’s had a few nightmares, but hasn’t woken up,” FRIDAY replied.

Nightmares, huh? That wasn’t surprising. After what had happened, Tony would have been surprised if Peter _hadn’t_ had nightmares. He leaned in and studied Peter closer, noticing the dried remnants of tear tracks on Peter’s face. There was also a crunchy look to the kid’s hair, and he realized that Peter probably hadn’t showered or dried himself off. He hadn’t even bothered to pull the thick blanket on the back of the couch down on himself.

Tony sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Kids.

“Peter? Hey, Kid, wake up,” Tony called softly. He didn’t want to put a hand on Peter. He knew better than that. It was way too easy for a superhero to come awake swinging.

It took several tries before Peter stirred, eyelashes fluttering open to reveal big, confused brown eyes. He stared blankly at Tony for a few moments, then let out a squeak and jumped up. Or tried to. His body had obviously stiffened up while he slept, and so he ended up grabbing at his ribs and giving a meek, pained whimper instead. Tony had to grab his shoulders before the kid ended up on his butt on the floor.

“Okay, new rule. No quick movements,” Tony told him. “You didn’t break anything, but you have a heck of a lot of new bruises that are going to hurt for a while.”

“I never get hurt,” Peter mumbled, sounding confused.

“I’m sure your powers mean you’re less susceptible to getting hurt, but you’re not immune. Especially when you fall that great a distance and hit a body of water,” Tony said, keeping his voice gentle.

“Oh,” Peter said, very quietly.

“So here’s what we’re going to do. You need a shower, and then you’re going to change into something warm. You’ll have something to eat and then you’ll sleep,” Tony said. There wasn’t much food in the tower, but he’d have FRIDAY put in an order for something good while Peter showered.

“You don’t have to – I can go,” Peter said. He bit his lip, a flush rising to his cheeks.

“No. You’re in no shape to go home,” Tony replied. The kid’s aunt would have a heart attack if she saw him. “I’ll straighten things out with your aunt. I’ll tell her we had something vital to do. Some experiment.”

For a moment, he thought Peter might argue. Peter even opened his mouth. But then it was like someone cut a string and all the fight went out of him. His shoulders slumped and, before he ducked his head, Tony caught a glimpse of tears in Peter’s eyes.

“Okay,” Peter whispered.

That was it. Just ‘okay’. Tony puzzled over that as he put a hand under Peter’s elbow, gently urging the kid to stand. It seemed unusual for Peter to give in without a fight. There was definitely more to this situation than just the near drowning. If it was what Tony thought, then the smart thing to do would have been to keep his distance and leave it alone – but sometimes Tony wasn’t very smart. 

“Okay,” he repeated, and lead Peter towards the bathroom.


	11. Chapter 11

A big part of Tony didn’t feel right about letting the kid shower by himself. Peter seemed oddly unsteady on his feet. But he couldn’t think of a way to suggest a bath that wouldn’t make Peter react poorly – and it was likely that Peter wouldn’t be too sure about baths in the near future anyway after almost drowning. So in the end he let Peter go in and then, once he’d heard the shower start, opened the door to grab Peter’s discarded clothing.

“I’m right outside if you need me,” Tony told the shape moving behind the curtain. 

Peter did not respond.

Tony’s frown deepened as he stepped back, letting the door swing partially shut. Peter had been wearing jeans and a t-shirt underneath the suit. All of it was stained with sweat and blood, and the suit was muddy on top of that, so everything would need to be washed before it could be worn again. Couldn’t have people wondering why Spider-Man was running around looking like he’d rolled in a mud puddle.

He turned towards the living room and paused when a familiar, pungent scent wafted past his nose. It was unmistakable. Urine. He held the suit up and sniffed experimentally, then made a face. Definitely urine. At some point, Peter had wet himself. 

Now considering what had happened tonight, and everything that Peter had been through, maybe that shouldn’t have been surprising. That was a reaction that could have happened to anyone. But it hadn’t been _just_ anyone: it was Peter. And Tony wondered. He dropped the clothes in a ball on the floor and grabbed his phone, dialing a familiar number. 

“Hi May, it’s me.”

“Mr. Stark?” May said, sounding very surprised, and Tony sighed.

“Please call me Tony,” he said patiently, just like he did every time they spoke. It had been over twenty years, yet hearing ‘Mr. Stark’ was still enough to make Tony inwardy flinch and think about Howard. 

“Right. Tony. What can I do for you?” May asked. Tony heard the sound of glass tinkling in the background. Most people would have assumed that meant May was out at a restaurant or something like that, but he knew that meant she was most likely at work. He had, of course, done some research into Peter’s family when he first became aware of the kid. May worked _a lot_.

“I was just calling you about Peter. He’s going to spend the night here,” Tony told her. He was about to make up a lie to get Peter out of school tomorrow, but May let out a loud sigh of relief.

“Oh, so that’s where he went!” she said. “Thank goodness. I called a couple of his friends but none of them had seen him.”

“Wait, did something happen?” Tony said, confused. Had Peter decided to tell his aunt about being Spider-Man after all? That seemed unlikely…

May sighed again. “Yes, but I don’t feel comfortable breaking Peter’s confidence.”

Tony closed his eyes. “He’s a Little, isn’t he?”

She was quiet for a moment before she said, “He told you?”

Damn. Suspicions confirmed. “No. I guessed. It was pretty obvious,” Tony said. Pretty obvious once he had been paying attention, anyway. He scowled at himself, realizing that he had been letting a Little out in the field by himself for weeks now. And probably a young Little at that, if Peter was wetting himself.

“Peter doesn’t like to think that it is,” May murmured. “He’s very upset about it all, and he’s having a hard time adjusting. 

“What happened?” Tony asked again, wondering what else the kid had been through tonight.

“I hired someone to come in and help Peter get adjusted, but I don’t think it’s working very well,” said May. “Thérèse called me earlier and said that Peter ran out on her while they were talking about baby proofing the apartment.”

Baby proofing. Tony’s eyebrows drew together and he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Even younger than he’d guessed. 

“And he’s been having a rough time at school too,” May went on. “Though he’d probably rather I didn’t mention that to you.” Her tone, however, strongly suggested that she very much wanted to go into more detail, and Tony eagerly took the bait.

“What’s going on at school?” he said. It probably didn’t look very good for him not to know these things already. Supposedly, he and Peter spent a lot of time together. But if May thought it was strange that Tony didn’t know, she didn’t let on.

She just said, “Peter has always been a target of bullying. I don’t know why. There’s one kid in particular, Flash Thompson, who is giving him a really hard right now. Based on what I can hear, Flash keeps saying that Peter doesn’t really know you and that Peter is just making up the fact that he has an internship with you. It got quite bad a couple days ago and Peter left in the middle of the day. He was a mess when he came home.”

Tony _should_ have known this already.

But he didn’t.

Because he’d been trying to keep his distance.

Once again, Tony had somehow managed to mess things up.

“I wanted to call you,” May went on. “But Peter didn’t want me to.”

“Right,” Tony said through a growing haze of guilt. He thought about all the text messages that he’d read through. Peter thought he was sending them just to Happy, but Tony could read them too. And he did. Avidly. But he had chosen not to respond, thinking that he was doing what was best for Peter. He didn’t remember seeing anything in those texts that indicated Peter was having problems.

But… it had also been a little while since Peter texted, hadn’t it?

“It’s all just bad timing, I think. Everything came to a head all at once,” May concluded. She sounded tired now that her relief had been exhausted. “I thought that bringing Thérèse in would help matters, but it seems to have made things a lot worse.”

“Is she a governmental worker?” Tony asked.

“Yes. She came highly recommended.” May sounded a bit defensive. 

“I’m sure she was,” Tony said in his best placating voice. He didn’t blame May for trying to help her nephew in the best way she knew how. But he knew what those governmental workers could be like. Tony had dealt with a few of them before. They tended to be very set in their ways. When pitted against Peter’s natural stubbornness, Tony could see how that would not have gone well.

“I don’t know what to do now,” May admitted. “This whole situation has turned into a big mess.”

It was Tony’s turn to sigh. “I’m not sure what to tell you either. But I don’t mind keeping Peter here tonight. Maybe I can talk to him, and then we can all talk together tomorrow morning.” At the very least, he needed to talk to Peter about this whole superhero thing.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose on you,” May said cautiously.

“It’s not imposing at all. I’d be happy to,” Tony lied. Truthfully, this was not what he wanted to be dealing with right now. Yet he could also see that he didn’t really have a choice. No one else knew that Peter was Spider-Man, so no one else could have that conversation with the kid.

But more than that, Tony realized with a sinking feeling that he _wanted_ to help. Maybe it was the caregiver instincts that he’d never entirely been able to suppress no matter how hard he tried. Or maybe it was just the fact that Peter was a good kid, he was clearly having a hard time in both his superhero and personal life, and there was no one else to help.

Tony wasn’t the best option – far from it, in his opinion – but he thought that he might be better than nothing. Well, he _hoped_ he would better than nothing…

Then again, he’d told himself he would stay away from Peter. He didn’t want to pull Peter into everything that Tony was dealing with, and he didn’t want to poison Peter’s life anymore than he already had. A little bit of doubt took hold. Maybe it would be better to redirect Peter to someone else, like Xavier. He was familiar with dealing with both teenagers and Littles. 

“Then yes, that would be great,” May said, snapping Tony back to attention. “I’ll call the school and let them know that Peter won’t be in tomorrow.”

“Uh… sure,” Tony said, realizing that it was too late now to go back on his offer. He was being stupid. He couldn’t foist Peter off on Xavier or anyone else now; he had built a relationship of sorts with Peter and May, and it was very unlikely that May would be okay with Tony passing her nephew off to someone else.

This was probably what Pepper meant when she said Tony should think before he talked.

“Great. Please have Peter call me if he’s up to it. But if he’s not, that’s okay. I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” May said. Someone called her name from a distance, and May inhaled sharply. “I’m sorry, I have to go.” She hung just as Tony heard an alarm begin to go off in the background.

He sighed. Well, that was that, wasn’t it? No going back from it now. He contemplated his next move as he tossed Peter’s soiled clothing into the laundry. Luckily, the suit could be washed via normal means: the delicate circuits inside were as waterproof as Tony could make them. As a bonus no one would think it was weird that Tony Stark had Spider-Man’s suit, though he would probably have to make sure that no one noticed Peter leaving the tower tomorrow. Another headache to think about, but at least that was tomorrow’s problem.

Tonight’s problem, on the other hand…

Tony found himself staring at the bathroom door. It had probably been what? Fifteen minutes since Peter got in the shower? That wasn’t a very long time. But it _felt_ like a long time. He couldn’t put a finger on why, but something felt like it wasn’t right. He moved closed to the door and listened, but couldn’t hear anything other than the water. He needed an excuse to go inside. 

Quickly, he walked over to his dresser and took out an old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that was a little too small. Peter was barely at the tower, so he didn’t have any spare clothes here. Tony hesitated for a moment, staring at the clothing. Peter had been wearing boxers underneath his clothes and suit, not a pull-up or even a diaper. He’d wet himself, but that could’ve been because of the trauma. Then again, May had been talking about baby proofing the apartment.

Before he could second guess himself anymore, Tony said, “FRI, put in an order for a box of pull-ups and a box of diapers in Peter’s size. High absorbency.”

“Sure thing, Boss!” FRIDAY chirped.

“Thanks,” Tony said absently, heading back to the bathroom. He took a deep breath and nudged the door open, sticking his head in. He was just about to tell Peter that he was going to leave the clothes on the counter when the sound of soft sobbing met his ears.

Peter was crying.

Tony was inside the room and pulling aside the shower curtain before he even realized what he was doing. Peter was curled up in a corner of the shower, legs tucked up against his chest, crying.

“Kiddo?” Tony said, horrified.

“The – the water,” Peter said through sobs, cringing. His hair was wet, and it only took Tony a moment to grasp what that meant and then feel monumenally stupid for not having realized that Peter might be sensitive to water on his face or hair – much the same way that Tony had been after Afghanistan.

“Shit,” he muttered, reaching over to shut the water off. Peter didn’t move, just kept crying in that awful, soft way that made Tony’s heart hurt. He didn’t think twice about stepping into the shower and kneeling down right there, not caring that his pants immediately got soaked.

He pulled Peter into a hug, pressing a hand to Peter’s damp hair. Peter was stiff against him for a few seconds before abruptly melting and crying into his shirt. Tony swallowed the lump in his throat and started whispering reassurances. The feeling of having someone so fragile in his arms was unforgettable, and he knew right then that somehow he needed to fix this.


	12. Chapter 12

Eventually, Tony realized that Peter was shivering, and it occurred to him that kneeling in a tub while they were wet wasn't a very good idea for either of them. He needed to get Peter out of the tub, dressed, and in bed, and it needed to happen sooner rather than later. He sat back on his heels, trying to put a little space between them, but Peter let out another sob and clung to him even harder, like he thought that Tony was trying to leave. Actually, that was probably exactly what the kid was thinking. Tony sighed.

"Kid - Peter, listen to me. I need you to stand up, okay?" he said. If it weren't for Siberia, he wouldn't have had any problem with scooping Peter up and just carrying him back into the living room. But honestly, Tony didn't know if he'd ever be able to do that sort of thing again. So he had to get Peter to cooperate with him whether the kid wanted to or not.

"Don't wanna," Peter whispered into Tony's shirt.

"I know you don't want to, but I promise that you'll be much more comfortable if you do," Tony said. They both would be.

Feeling the gentle vibration of his phone, he reached into his pocket and slipped it out to check it. The message was from FRIDAY, letting him know that the diapers and pull-ups he had asked her to order for Peter had arrived. Tony raised an eyebrow - either FRIDAY had ordered the quickest shipping known to humans, or he and Peter had been here in the tub for a lot longer than Tony had realized - and typed a message back telling her to send a suit of armor to get the package and bring it upstairs. He had the feeling they'd need it.

He doubted that Peter had ever been in his headspace before, so the kid was probably terrified on top of everything else. Tony was _so not_ the person who should have been doing this. He wished that Pepper was here.

But she wasn't, so he had to do.

"Come on, Pete." Tony carefully stood up, bracing himself against the wall with a quiet grunt, and somehow managed to half coax, half pull Peter to his feet. Peter was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, so it was a miracle that they both got out of the tub without falling.

Still, Tony considered that an accomplishment. The next step was grabbing a thick towel and wrapping it around Peter, briskly drying the kid off. Peter stood there meekly, not protesting but also doing nothing to help. Tony couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing as he slipped the towel around Peter's shoulders. He grabbed the clothing he'd left on the counter and tucked it under his arm, then nudged the bathroom door open with his foot. He immediately spotted the package on the bed and the armor in the corner of the room. God, he loved FRIDAY.

"Here, sit down," Tony said, guiding Peter across the room. He got the kid to sit on the edge of the bed, still stark naked except for the towel around his shoulders. Then he stood back, hands on hips, and just looked at Peter for a moment.

The kid looked incredibly small and sad.

It was honestly heartbreaking.

"Peter," Tony said softly. "How young is your headspace?"

Peter flinched a bit, reaching up to grasp the towel with both hands. "My - ?"

"I know that you're a Little," Tony said, because there was no point in beating around that bush.

"I'm - I'm not -"

"Don't lie to me," Tony said, sighing. 

"But I'm not - " Peter's chin was wobbling. He was clearly trying his hardest not to cry, and it was melting Tony's heart into a tiny puddle on the floor.

"Peter, I _know_. I'm a Caregiver. I know a Little when I see one," Tony said, taking a seat on the bed beside him. "I can't believe that I didn't see it before, to be honest." He decided to leave May out of it for now. After all, she hadn't told Tony anything that Tony hadn't already known or guessed.

Peter's shoulders fell and he lowered his head. "Are you going to take the suit away?"

"Am I - what?" Tony said, blinking.

"If I'm a Little, I shouldn't be a superhero, right?" Peter whispered.

"I think that's something we can talk about later," Tony said, realizing that he should have expected Peter to bring that up right away. 

Peter was quiet for a long moment before he nodded. "I'm a Little." He spoke the words softly, almost shamefully.

Which really, that didn't surprise Tony at all. Why would Peter be proud of being a Little? So far, he had only ever seen the miserable, governmental side of things and that would be enough to make anyone hate what they were. The poor kid needed someone to take care of him. Tony bit back another sigh. The poor kid deserved someone way better than Tony, but right now Tony was all he was going to get.

"And how old is your headspace?" he asked.

Peter chewed his lower lip, a flush rising up his neck and turning both his face and his ears red. "A baby."

"Right," Tony said, careful to keep both his face and his voice calm. The worst thing he could do right now was react negatively to that admittance. He reached out and picked up the box from the bed, aware that Peter was tracking his every move. Tony opened up the box.

"No!" Peter shouted, leaping to his feet.

Tony startled, nearly dropping the box. "What?!"

"I am not wearing diapers!" Peter cried, backing away from the box like he thought the package of diapers might jump up and bite him. Tony stared at him, a little baffled by the over-reaction. Diapers were a common accessory for Littles in Peter's age group. 

"What's wrong?" Tony said, confused. "Peter?"

"I don't need them. I'm fine without them," Peter said, clutching the towel in front of him. It didn't do much to preserve his modesty.

Tony sighed. "Peter -"

"I don't! I'm fine! Really!" Peter cried, his voice ticking upwards in a tell-tale way that meant more tears were on the way. Tony already had a headache, and he didn't think he could handle another breakdown. He didn't know what Peter's problem with diapers was, but obviously they weren't going on tonight.

"Okay, fine. You don't have to put a diaper on. But you _do_ have to wear a pull-up at least," Tony said, pulling out the package of pull-ups.

Peter opened his mouth. Tony held up a hand to stop him.

"No. I don't want to hear it. You already wet yourself tonight in the suit," he said, not unkindly. Peter's face flushed again from embarrassment, so Tony added, "It's nothing to be ashamed of, but I don't have a mattress protector. You might have nightmares tonight." He ripped open the package and took out one of the pull-ups. 

"I won't," Peter said in a tiny voice. "I'm not a baby."

Tony just barely bit back the "Yeah, you are" that wanted to come out of his mouth.

That wouldn't help.

Instead, he just sat there and looked at Peter for a moment.

Finally, he said, "Peter, listen to me. Being a Little is nothing to be ashamed of, and neither is being a baby. Using a diaper or pull-up is - it's like an instrument designed to help you get through the day. It's no different than someone wearing glasses or a hearing aid. You must have a really hard time without them."

Peter frowned. "I get by. I go to the bathroom every two hours."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like a lot of work," he said, wondering what Peter did at night. A mattress protector and a lot of bedding changes, most likely.

"It's fine," Peter said stiffly. "I - I don't want anyone to know."

Well, that made sense considering that May had said Peter was already being bullied. Tony had been there; he knew first-hand how cruel kids could be. And he'd been a caregiver, not a Little. If the teens at Peter’s school found out about him… Tony shuddered to think about it. It was very unlikely that Peter would be able to stay at his school if that happened. The teasing and tormenting would be relentless.

"It's just you and me here tonight," Tony pointed out. "No one else is here. Well, no one else except FRIDAY and I happen to know she's really good at keeping secrets. Right, FRI?"

"Absolutely!" FRIDAY chirped, which was enough to bring a tiny smile to Peter's tearstained face.

He ventured a little bit closer to Tony, looking down at the pull-ups. In Tony's opinion, the diapers were way cuter: they were patterned with little stars and comets. The pull-ups were pretty adorable too though. They were navy blue with clouds on the front of them. According to the package, the clouds would turn grey when the pull-up had been used. 

"You'd be able to sleep without having to worry about waking up to go to the bathroom, or waking up wet," Tony added, looking up at Peter. He could see how much Peter wanted them. Wanted _this_. 

Peter was quiet for a moment before he slowly nodded. "Okay, but not the diapers."

"Deal. Here." Tony took out one of the pull-ups and handed it to Peter. Peter dropped the towel and bent down, slipping the pull-up on.

"And I'm not going to use it," he added, looking at Tony challengingly.

Tony had to bite back a smile and nodded seriously. "Of course not. It's just for in case," he said, passing Peter the sweatpants and t-shirt. Peter pulled them both on quickly, but the sweatpants were too long, and the shirt was too big. It made him look like a little kid dressing up in his daddy's clothes.

The sharp spike of _wanting_ left Tony a bit breathless.

"Thanks, Mr. Stark," Peter said quietly when he was dressed.

"No need to thank me, Pete." Tony looked back down at the box, needing a moment to collect himself, and spotted something colorful underneath the untouched package of diapers. A little bit of rummaging unveiled a dark blue pacifier and -

"Oh my gosh," Peter gasped.

"Seriously, FRI?" Tony said dryly, pulling the teddy bear out of the box. The bear had dark brown fur and wearing a replica of the Iron Man suit, complete with fuzzy ears sticking out of a cloth helmet. 

"Peter likes Iron Man," FRIDAY said in a voice that was no doubt designed to be pure innocence.

Tony glanced at Peter.

The look of sheer _want_ on Peter's face was both sweet and sad.

"I guess FRIDAY bought this for you," Tony said, holding out the bear.

Peter hesitated. "I shouldn't. I don't really have a place to put it when my friends come over," he said, even though it was obvious just how much he wanted the bear. 

"You can leave it here and come see it anytime you want," Tony said before he could stop himself.

This was a slippery slope, and he had an addictive personality.

What the hell was he doing?

"Really?" Peter whispered, hope in his eyes.

Tony couldn't bring himself to say no, so he nodded.

"That's - wow. Okay. Thank you." Peter tentatively took the bear, hugging it to his chest. He rubbed his cheek against the bear's head, another small smile crossing his face when he felt how soft it was.

"Now come on." Tony got up and set the box aside, decided to forego the pacifier tonight. He pulled back the covers.

"In here?" Peter said, eyes wide.

"None of the guest rooms are made up. You can have the bed and I'll sleep on the couch," Tony said.

"Mr. Stark - I couldn't -"

"Peter, get in the bed," Tony said sternly. It was late and he was tired, and he was certain that Peter felt the same way. He didn’t want to deal with a meltdown when all the exhaustion inevitably caught up with the kid. 

Peter's eyes widened further, but he obeyed. Tony pulled the covers up and sat on the bed next to him, deciding he'd sit there until Peter fell asleep. He had no intention of falling asleep himself... but somehow, it happened.


	13. Chapter 13

For the first time in a long time, Peter woke up feeling warm, content, and sleepy. Part of him wanted to fall right back asleep, but there was something niggling at the back of his mind. Even so, he yawned and snuggled deeper into the covers, rubbing his cheek against something soft. Whatever it was fit comfortably in his arms and was just the right size for him to cuddle…

Wait.

Peter opened his eyes, blinking blearily. The area around his crotch was wet, yet the very soft sheets that he was lying on somehow _weren’t_ wet. That was definitely a stuffed animal that he was holding, yet Peter didn’t own any stuffed animals – he’d thrown them all in the garbage when he turned eight and realized that he was supposed to be too old for that kind of stuff. 

Then it hit him, and Peter let out a groan of pure miserable despair.

Mr. Stark.

He was in Mr. Stark’s bed.

Shit. Peter closed his eyes out of embarrassment as he remembered his behavior from last night. He’d never been in his Little headspace, but that was definitely the closest he had come. Something about Mr. Stark’s firm but gentle demeanor had just made Peter want to do everything he said. Especially when Mr. Stark smiled at him when Peter did something right. 

It was exactly the way that Peter used to feel when he was a little kid and he earned Uncle Ben’s approval, but a thousand times more potent.

“I am so screwed,” he whispered to himself, pressing his face against the belly of Iron Bear. 

“Good morning, Peter,” FRIDAY said. Peter jumped a little, his head snapping up.

“FRIDAY?” he said shyly, having almost forgotten about the A.I. He wrapped his arms more tightly around the teddy bear, wondering if he was about to be kicked out of the tower. 

“Boss is talking to Ms. Potts in the other room. Would you like me to get him?” FRIDAY asked.

“No,” Peter said quickly. Last night, he’d only put on the pull-up because Mr. Stark had insisted on it. Peter had been so sure he wouldn’t use it. Yet right now, he could tell that the pull-up was soaked. He didn’t want Mr. Stark to know that he’d used it after all.

He crawled to the edge of the bed and quickly double-checked to be sure the sheets were free of wetness before he put his feet on the floor and stood. He went into the bathroom and took off the sweatpants Mr. Stark had given him, then removed the pull-up. With no other way to hide it, he eventually ended up burying it deep inside the garbage can beneath some other stuff.

Then he was faced with a problem.

“Where are my clothes?” he asked FRIDAY.

“Boss sent them to be washed,” FRIDAY replied.

Peter frowned. That meant he didn’t have any boxers, and he didn’t feel right going commando in Mr. Stark’s clothes – that was weird. Besides, it was one thing to have an accident in his own clothing. It was something else entirely to do that while wearing the clothing of his hero. He didn’t think he’d be able to live with the shame if that happened. Unfortunately, he wasn’t exactly thrilled with the alternative.

At least the bedroom remained mercifully empty, so no one but FRIDAY was around to see Peter take another pull-up from the package and slip it on. Now that he wasn’t as tired, he could better appreciate how the pull-up felt once it was on. It fit him snugly, but not to the point where it was uncomfortable. He was very aware of the extra padding, but the pull-up was at least thin enough so as not to bulge beneath the sweatpants.

Then, suitably attired, he crept to the bedroom door and cautiously opened it. He immediately spotted Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts, both sitting on the couch in the living room. Both of them looked up when Peter opened the bedroom door, but neither one of them seemed surprised to see him. Peter chewed his lower lip, realizing that Mr. Stark must have told Ms. Potts the truth, and felt a little indignant on his own behalf.

“Peter,” Ms. Potts said with a smile, standing up. “How are you feeling? Tony told me what happened last night. You had a hard time.”

Peter scowled at her. “Just because I’m a Little doesn’t mean I can’t be Spider-Man,” he said sharply.

She blinked.

Mr. Stark facepalmed.

“Wait, you’re a Little?” Ms. Potts said, her eyes wide.

“Wait, you didn’t know?” Peter said, shocked, and they both looked at Mr. Stark.

“I didn’t tell her, kiddo,” Mr. Stark said, looking up with what was clearly a very tired smile. “I mean, I told her about what happened to Spider-Man. The whole almost drowning thing. But the other thing? That’s not my information to give out.”

“Oh,” Peter said in a very small voice, feeling monumentally stupid. He’d just outed himself to someone else for no reason.

“Well,” Ms. Potts said quietly. “This explains a lot.” She turned a look on Mr. Stark that Peter didn’t understand. Mr. Stark frowned back at her. Ms. Potts just shook her head before turning back to Peter.

But Peter couldn’t quite look at her. He stared at the floor instead, scuffing his bare foot against the tile. He didn’t know Ms. Potts very well, but she was really nice. Warm, welcoming, kind. She always smelled like something sweet, and she had that kind of smile that said she wouldn’t mind if you laid down with your head in her lap for a while. 

Not that Peter had dreamed of doing that or anything, because that would be creepy and he was not a creepy person.

He just – 

He loved his aunt. He really did. And honestly, Peter didn’t remember his mother very well; he’d only been four years old when she and his father passed away. But sometimes he imagined that his mother had been something like Ms. Potts. Someone who could make you feel like the whole world was okay just by virtue of the fact that she was there.

A hand landed on Peter’s shoulder, and he startled and looked up. Ms. Potts was standing right in front of him. 

Huh. His spider sense hadn’t gone off even when she crossed into his personal space…

“How about some breakfast?” Ms. Potts suggested. “We could have FRIDAY order in. Do you like pancakes, Peter?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, nodding. He wasn’t sure where this was going, but he was never one to turn down free food.

“With chocolate chips?” Ms. Potts said, a twinkle in her eyes.

Peter nodded even harder. “Yeah!”

“You have good taste,” she said, laughing. “Have a seat beside Tony and I’ll make us all some breakfast.” She kicked her high heels off and padded into the kitchen barefoot. Peter couldn’t help noticing that Mr. Stark watched her go with a wistful expression.

“How are you feeling today?” Mr. Stark asked, turning back to Peter.

“Um… sore,” Peter said. Sore and sheepish for jumping to the conclusion that Mr. Stark had told Ms. Potts about his classification. He should have known better. Mr. Stark had successfully kept the secret of Peter being Spider-Man for months now, so of course he can keep the secret of Peter being a Little.

It turned out that _Peter_ was the one who couldn’t keep a secret.

“That’s not surprising. You hit the water pretty hard. FRIDAY scanned you last night and said there was nothing broken, but are you feeling any serious pain?” Mr. Stark wanted to know, openly looking Peter up and down with a critical expression.

“No, I don’t think so. Just feels kind of like I did a really hard work-out,” Peter said. He was too embarrassed to sit down on the couch beside Mr. Stark, so opted to sit in the chair instead. That left a healthy amount of distance between them so that Peter wouldn’t be tempted to do something humiliating like put his head on Mr. Stark’s shoulder.

“Good,” Mr. Stark said. He seemed unusually agitated, bouncing his leg and wringing his hands together. Peter wondered if he was angry and decided that an upfront apology wouldn’t hurt.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Stark,” he said.

Mr. Stark looked surprised. “Sorry?”

“I made you come back from your trip early,” Peter said, his stomach sinking. “All because I couldn’t handle things by myself.”

“Whoa, hey, no,” Mr. Stark said, shaking his head. “Peter, that wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was! I should’ve handled those guys better,” Peter insisted. 

“You got in over your head. It happens. You shouldn’t have engaged them, though. You should have contacted me or Happy and we would’ve sent someone to deal with the situation,” Mr. Stark said.

“You ignored all my texts. I didn’t think you’d care,” Peter said without thinking.

Ms. Potts dropped a frying pan.

Mr. Stark jerked like Peter had reached out and slapped him.

Peter was instantly horrified. “No! No, that’s not what I meant! I just – I meant –”

“It’s okay,” Mr. Stark said with a tight smile. “You’re… not wrong. We were ignoring you, and that wasn’t right.” He was quiet for a few seconds before he sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair. “Peter, I’m sorry. I went about this all wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked in a tiny voice, clenching his hands at his sides. If Mr. Stark said he regretted meeting Peter in the first place and giving him such an awesome suit – 

“I was trying to keep my distance from you. I’m not – being around me isn’t safe,” Mr. Stark said. 

“Tony,” Ms. Potts said softly.

“It’s the truth, Pep.” Mr. Stark got up and started to pace around. “I taint people just by being near there. I was trying to protect you, Peter. I wanted better for you. I didn’t want you to be ruined by me.”

Peter watched him, confused. 

Ruined by Mr. Stark?

That was ridiculous. 

“You’re being ridiculous, Tony,” Ms. Potts said, setting down her mixing bowl. “You don’t taint people.”

“Yes, I do!” Mr. Stark said.

“No, you don’t. I keep telling you that people are capable of making their own decisions. The fact that so many people around you make bad decisions is more about the quality of people that you’re surrounding yourself with, not because of you,” Ms. Potts said firmly. “This idea you have that you’re somehow dangerous to people is what’s toxic because it’s not true. Right, Peter?”

Peter startled a little at being addressed but nodded vigorously. “Yeah! I love being with you, Mr. Stark.” He didn’t think about how that could be interpreted until it was alright out, and Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts both looked at him. Mr. Stark with confusion, and Ms. Potts with a knowing smile.

When Peter swallowed and looked back at Ms. Potts, she winked at him.

“Clearly no one has handled what’s happened so far well,” Ms. Potts said, picking up a whisk. She pointed it at Mr. Stark. “Therefore, I’m proposing that we all have breakfast together and then decide what to do from now on _together_.”

“But you said –” Mr. Stark began.

Ms. Potts shook her head at him. “Maybe I was wrong. Obviously, you boys can’t be trusted to handle things by yourself,” she said.

“Hey,” Mr. Stark said, pouting at her.

“The truth hurts,” Ms. Potts said, rolling her eyes at him in return. “Is that okay with you, Peter?”

“Sure,” Peter said. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he was grateful that they weren’t kicking him out of the tower. Mr. Stark didn’t seem to be angry at him, and Ms. Potts was cooking them both breakfast. That was a lot better than the cold cereal he would’ve been eating before heading to…

Shit.

“I need to go to school!” he exclaimed.

Mr. Stark waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Your aunt called you in sick.”

“You talked to my aunt?” Peter said.

“I let her know you were crashing here so she wouldn’t worry,” Mr. Stark explained, and Peter wondered just what else they had talked about. 

“Did you tell her…” he asked, suddenly afraid.

“What is it with you and thinking I’m going to spill your secrets left and right?” Mr. Stark said, and finally he smiled. That smile immediately Peter feel a whole lot better about everything, and he couldn’t help smiling back.


	14. Chapter 14

Tony had FRIDAY switch on the television. Though Peter tried to pretend like he wasn’t all that interested in the cartoons that started playing, it was maybe ten minutes before the kid was utterly absorbed. Tony shook his head fondly as he got up and walked into the kitchen to join Pepper. Peter didn’t even notice he had moved, so Tony closed the kitchen door most of the way and turned to Pepper.

“This is a terrible idea, Pep,” he said in an undertone. 

“Is it now?” Pepper said mildly. She was in the middle of whipping up a pancake batter. Tony hadn’t even known that she knew how to make pancakes, and now her she was acting like she was a Master Chef.

“Yes, it is. You can say whatever you want, but you know that the relationships I try to do never go well,” Tony whispered. “It’s bad enough when things go wrong between someone like you and me, but Peter is a Little. It would be a hundred times worse.”

“Maybe it won’t go bad. Did you ever think that maybe it could go right?” Pepped retorted.

“No! Because I’m me! Pep, are you telling me that you’ve forgotten all those nights where you got mad because I stayed in the workshop too long? Or all the times I haven’t eaten or slept for like a week until JARVIS locked me out of the workshop?” Tony felt like grabbing his hair and pulling at it out of sheer frustration. 

Pepper set down the bowl and looked at him calmly. “Tony, when you put your full attention on something, it always goes well,” she said softly. “I won’t say one way or the other what that means for our relationship. But I absolutely, 100% believe that you could be good for Peter Parker if you wanted to be.”

Tony stared at her, speechless.

“I know it’s scary. Taking on the care of a Little is _always_ scary because it’s a lot of responsibility. But that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing, and it doesn’t mean that you’re going to taint Peter or something ridiculous like that. I meant what I said about the quality of the people around you,” she added, and it didn’t take a genius to know who she was thinking about.

“Are you including yourself in that?” Tony asked, lowering his gaze to the floor. They both knew it was his fault that their relationship had ended. Pepper had asked two things of him: for him to step away from being Iron Man, and for them to take on a Little together. Both were completely reasonable things for her to ask, but Tony hadn’t been able to bring himself do either one. That was on _him_ , not her.

But apparently Pepper hadn’t gotten that memo because she closed the distance between them to take Tony’s hands in hers. Tony jerked his head up, startled, and found himself looking her in the face. Her kind, beautiful face.

“I’ve had some time to think about everything, and yes. I would.”

“What?” Tony said, shocked. “That’s not –”

“Yes, it is. I gave you an ultimatum and that wasn’t fair of me,” Pepper said quietly. “Being Iron Man is a part of you. I didn’t want to understand that because I didn’t want to accept it. That’s my problem. Not yours.”

“But – ”

“Shh,” she whispered. “Tony, I hate to see you put yourself in danger. But I’ve come to realize that I’m going to hate that regardless of whether we’re together or not, because I love you regardless of whether we’re together or not. So it seems pretty stupid for me to keep us apart, right?”

Tony could hardly breathe. “Is this because of Peter?”

Pepper smiled at him. “A little bit, but honestly it’s something I’ve been thinking about since we broke up. I miss you. I miss being with you. I would still love for us to take on a Little together, but it doesn’t have to be right now. It doesn’t even have to be Peter. So long as you could agree to leave the option on the table, I’d be okay with that for now.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. When he and Pepper had broken up, he’d tried to come to terms with the fact that that was it. He’d told himself over and over that there was not going to be any more chances. During all those nights that he’d lain there missing her, he had never anticipated that Pepper would want to come back to him. The realization that she might have missed him too had never once crossed his mind. 

“You don’t have to say anything right now, or even decide. I just wanted to let you know where I stand,” Pepper said, looking at him worriedly. “If it’s too late – or if you don’t want to be with me –”

“No! I do! I want to be with you so much,” Tony said, springing forward and crushing her in an embrace. She smelled of jasmine and honey, which was the perfume she favored. Her hair was soft against his cheek and her body was wonderfully firm against him in all the right places. He couldn’t help letting out a shuddery exhale when she brought her arms up and hugged him back.

“I’m glad,” she whispered, sounding a little shaky herself.

“But I – I can’t stop being Iron Man,” Tony said, pulling back to look at her face. “It’s… it’s who I am.”

“I know. I’m coming to terms with that,” Pepper said. She wrapped her arms around him again. “I promise not to ask you to quit anymore, so long as you promise to be reasonable with all of it.”

“Does that include Peter?” Tony asked, because he knew Pepper better than that, and felt more than heard her chuckle.

“I’m afraid it does,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m not trying to make you do something you don’t want to do. I just don’t want you to _not_ do something and then have a lot of regrets about it later.”

Tony sighed into her hair, looking out the window. “I’m just… scared,” he admitted quietly, and god it felt good to say that out loud. “No matter what you say, I’m not a good person. And it’s not like I had a very good role model. What if I turn into my dad?”

“That wouldn’t happen,” Pepper said instantly.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. Just the fact that you’re worried about it tells me that you wouldn’t, but it’s more than that. I’ve seen how you are with Dummy and your other ‘bots, and how you were with JARVIS. You love and cherish them, right?” She drew back to look him in the face.

It was hard to argue with that logic, even though Tony wanted to. 

“But what if I mess up?” he asked, looking deeply into her eyes. “Maybe I won’t turn into my dad, but…” Look at what happened with us, he wanted to say. Regardless of what Pepper said, he still believed that it had been primarily his fault. Look at what had happened to JARVIS, who had been lost thanks to Tony’s mistakes. Look at what had happened to the Avengers, who were scattered to the winds after an auspicious start.

Look at what had _already_ happened to Peter. The kid had almost drowned last night. If it hadn’t been for Tony fishing Spider-Man out of that water, Tony would’ve had to visit May this morning and tell her that her nephew was dead. Maybe Peter would have gone after those criminals anyway – or maybe giving him the suit had made Peter feel like he could do things he shouldn’t have been doing. The fact that Tony and Happy had been ignoring the kid’s texts had contributed, certainly.

It seemed like no matter what Tony did, he couldn’t stop making mistakes.

“You will absolutely mess up,” Pepper said, and Tony shrank back from her, stricken.

“Pep –”

“Because you’re human,” she said before he could object further. “Parents mess up, Tony. Adults mess up. _Humans_ mess up. We always have and we always will. That’s life. The important thing is what you do when you mess. Do you get angry, pretend that you didn’t do anything wrong, and act like you’re always right? Or do you apologize, make things right, and keep moving forward?” She gave him a meaningful look. “I think we both know which kind of person you are.”

Tony swallowed hard.

“The question is, what kind of person do you want to be for Peter?” She gave him a small smile and turned away to pick up the bowl again. Tony watched as she began mixing up the batter again. Her movements were so quick and so sure. Polished. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

He envied her for that. He’d always thought that he would hit the point in his life where _he_ knew exactly what he was doing, but somehow, he’d never got there. Now, he doubted that he ever would. 

But that didn’t change the fact that Peter needed someone.

Was Tony willing to be that person?

He walked back to the kitchen door and peered through the crack. Peter was still absorbed in the cartoons. He looked adorable, all curled up in a chair with his head resting against the decorative throw draped across the back of the chair (which was totally Pepper’s, not Tony’s). His thumb was tucked into his mouth, which Tony was pretty sure was something that he had done unconsciously. 

In spite of everything, Tony’s heart melted.

Damn, he cared about that kid.

He couldn’t say he loved Peter yet, but honestly it wouldn’t take much more interaction between them for that to happen. Somehow, Peter had weaseled his way into Tony’s heart before Tony was even aware of it. He was sassy, stubborn, and dramatic, but also sweet and soft-hearted. He didn’t know when to give up, but he also put everything he had into protecting innocent people. He was just a good kid. A good kid who deserved the best. 

And maybe Tony wasn’t the best, but if he was what Peter wanted…

Then didn’t a good kid who deserved the best also deserve whatever he wanted?

He sighed to himself, leaning his head against the doorframe. Everything had made so much sense before Peter and Pepper came to the tower. He’d been resolute in his determination to stay away from both of them, because no matter what Pepper said, Tony’s presence had a way of making things go to shit. 

But now he wasn’t so sure.

Pepper could take care of herself. If she was serious about them getting back together, then she would be sad if Tony didn’t want to, but she would come to terms with it.

Peter, though. That was harder. Good caregivers for Littles weren’t always easy to come by. It sounded like Peter was already dealing with bullies at school. Plus, Tony knew the kid well enough to know that Peter was probably stressed out about May having to pay for the stuff that Littles needed. Adding a government caregiver on top of all that was a recipe for disaster. Peter _needed_ to step in for him in a way that May just couldn’t right now – and that wasn’t May’s fault; she had an incredibly busy full-time job on top of raising her nephew, and she wasn’t a Caregiver so taking care of a Little would just be even more stress with none of the benefits.

The sizzle of pancake batter distracted Tony from the very hard thoughts he was thinking, and he turned out to see that Pepper was adding a generous portion of chocolates chips to the pancake in the pan. She looked up, as though sensing his attention, and smiled at him. In her jeans and blouse, with her hair down, she looked soft and sexy and like she belonged there.

“Let’s have breakfast. You need some food for that big brain of yours,” she said. “Chocolate chips or blueberries or both?”

God, Tony loved her. “Both?”

She grinned at him. “Both it is.”


	15. Chapter 15

Breakfast was delicious, even if it went by too quickly. Peter spent the whole meal with his head down, not sure what was going to happen afterwards and too nervous to ask. Part of him thought that he would be turned out of the tower immediately, and another part of him thought that Mr. Stark was going to demand the Spider-Man suit back, and another part of him thought that Mr. Stark probably looked down on him now, and another part –

“Okay,” Ms. Potts said, breaking the silence, and Peter’s head snapped up. “Peter, if you don’t mind me asking, where does your headspace fall on the spectrum?”

His immediate instinct was to lie or tell her that it was none of her business, but Ms. Potts’s smile was so kind that Peter instantly felt guilty for even thinking about that. He pursed his lips and took a quick, shaky sip of his orange juice, hoping that she might forget about her question, but she just kept looking at him expectantly and finally he felt compelled to answer.

“A baby,” he mumbled into his juice, steeling himself for whatever their reactions might be. It was not what he expected.

“I knew it,” Mr. Stark said.

At the same time, Ms. Potts said, “That’s wonderful!”

Peter looked at Mr. Stark and was relieved to see that Mr. Stark looked just as confused as Peter felt. 

“Uh, Pep? What do you mean, that’s wonderful?” Mr. Stark asked in a cautious voice.

Her smile broadened. “I happen to know that Tony’s ideal match is the baby headspace,” she said to Peter.

Mr. Stark had just taken a huge gulp of coffee, and he promptly choked on it. “How the –” He coughed several times, finally managing to sputter out, “How the hell do you know that?!”

“It’s just one of those things I picked up along the way,” Ms. Potts said airily.

“Rhodey,” Mr. Stark muttered, shaking his head.

“I can neither confirm nor deny my sources,” Ms. Potts said. “Now Peter, what has your aunt been doing to help you out? I understand that she’s not a caregiver, and that her job as a nurse keeps really busy. That must be so hard for her.”

Peter was ready to jump to Aunt May’s defense at the start, but by the time Ms. Potts was finished speaking, it sounded more like she was sympathizing with Aunt May instead of criticizing her. A little unsettled, he slowly told the both of them about Thérèse. It felt really good to be able to talk about her to someone who wasn’t Aunt May; he didn’t need to worry about hurting the feelings or the wallet of Ms. Potts or Mr. Stark.

And that was… nice. Nice in a way that Peter really hadn’t expected. He hadn’t realized until this very moment just how much he was keeping locked up inside. So he told them everything: about how much he didn’t like Thérèse because of how she didn’t listen to him, how embarrassed he was about being a Little, how worried he was over Aunt May not having enough money to deal with this, how guilty he felt for putting Aunt May in this situation in the first place, how much he wished he could be anything but a Little, how scared he was being a Little would affect him as Spider-Man. He even found himself talking about the bullying.

By the time he’d run out of steam, everyone’s glasses were empty, and Peter was choking back tears. He felt a little like a kettle that someone had finally popped the top off of, and all the steam he’d been keeping back over the past couple of months had come pouring out. 

“Oh honey,” Ms. Potts said finally.

“C’mere, kiddo,” Mr. Stark said, getting up. Peter didn’t know what was happening until Mr. Stark pulled him up. But then Mr. Stark wrapped him up in a big hug, and Peter couldn’t help melting into him.

In that moment, he felt… small. Like he very much wanted Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts to just take care of everything. He wanted to bury his head in Mr. Stark’s neck and just hide there until all the things that were wrong with Peter’s world miraculously resolved themselves. He felt small, and safe, but also sad and unhappy, and all of that felt like a lot of big feelings.

“Peter, it’s okay,” Ms. Potts said. She set her hands on Peter’s shoulders from behind, gently rubbing them. Her tender touch felt wonderful.

This was what it had felt like, Peter remembered, when he was just a little kid, and his mommy and daddy used to wrap him up in a big hug between them. 

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Stark said. “I didn’t realize you were having such a hard time. I should have been paying more attention to your texts, but I wasn’t and that’s my fault.”

“it’s my fault. I messed up,” Peter whispered past the lump in his throat. He’d messed up in so many ways that it made his head spin to think about it.

“No, baby, no,” Ms. Potts said. “Those are a lot of big things you mentioned, and I bet that you just felt too little to know how to handle them all. Right?”

It was incredible how accurate that assessment. Peter didn’t know how Ms. Potts did it. He nodded miserably, gulping hard against the tears that were welling up in his eyes. 

“That’s not your fault. You don’t have enough people in your corner, that’s all,” Ms. Potts said. She lengthened her strides, rubbing down Peter’s arms too. “But that’s going to change. You have me and Tony now, and we’re going to take care of you.”

“If that’s what you want,” Mr. Stark added, his voice sounding a little funny.

“Please,” Peter said. He could barely choke the word out. He wanted so badly for someone else to handle things for a while. Aunt May couldn’t because she wasn’t a Caregiver, and she didn’t even know that he was Spider-Man, so even if she was a Caregiver, she wouldn’t be able to take the full burden. And Thérèse… just the thought of her wanted to make Peter cry even more. He couldn’t imagine letting Thérèse hug him like Mr. Stark was, or having her rub his arms and shoulders like Ms. Potts was.

The tears came then, rolling down his cheeks. Peter tucked his face into the side of Mr. Stark’s neck and, for once, stopped fighting against them. The sobs shook through him with such force that his teeth clattered together, but Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts never once let him go. It was the sort of comfort that Peter had always dreamt about, but which he’d never thought he would be fortunate enough to find.

Ms. Potts and Mr. Stark held him the whole time. They didn’t tell him to stop crying, but they didn’t try to act like he was being a huge baby by crying either. If Thérèse had been there, she would’ve been talking about Peter’s headspace and trying to shove a bottle into his hand or going off about baby-proofing the floor or something equally stupid.

After a little while, he heard the sound of Ms. Potts and Mr. Stark whispering to each other. Then Mr. Stark took his hand off of Peter’s back and ran his hand through Peter’s hair. That felt so wonderful that Peter almost stopped crying. He couldn’t help trying to nuzzle into Mr. Stark’s hand. He felt more than heard Mr. Stark chuckle – his chest rumbled in the most pleasing way – before Mr. Stark did it again.

“Kiddo, are you wearing a pull-up or diaper?” Mr. Stark asked at the same time.

Peter nodded. 

“Really?” Mr. Stark said, sounding surprised. “I’m proud of you, Pete.”

The praise was amazing. Peter soaked it up and committed it to memory. He’d almost went without a pull-up earlier, but now he was relieved that he’d decided to put one on. He had the feeling that either Mr. Stark or Ms. Potts would’ve walked him into the bedroom to put one on otherwise, and he wasn’t sure how that made him feel besides little. Very little.

“What do you say I fix you some warm milk? I think you’re tired,” Ms. Potts said. She stopped rubbing Peter’s shoulders and upper arms, which made Peter a little sad. He hadn’t realized how strained and achy his upper body was from last night’s fall until Ms. Potts stopped.

“M’not tired,” Peter mumbled.

Mr. Stark chuckled again. “Sure you’re not, Munchkin,” he said. “C’mon.” He pulled back but, before Peter could open his mouth to complain about the end of the hug, had wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders and tucked Peter into his side. 

They walked back into the living room, and Peter was expecting to be pushed down onto the chair. But instead, Mr. Stark gently pushed him down onto the couch and then sat down next to him. He grabbed the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch and draped it over Peter. It was surprisingly comfortable and warm, and Peter snuggled into it.

“You can be yourself here, Peter. No one will judge you for that,” Mr. Stark said, looking at him with a faint smile. “I might not be the first choice for a caregiver, but…” He shrugged.

But what?

But Peter needed him?

But Mr. Stark wanted this?

Peter didn’t want to be a burden on someone else. He wanted Mr. Stark to _want_ this. He just didn’t know how to put that into words.

“Luckily, we both have Pepper here to guide us,” Mr. Stark continued, putting his hand on Peter’s knee and squeezing. “She has experience with Littles, but I don’t. I’ve never had a Little before.” He frowned at himself. “There’s a whole host of reasons, but I won’t bother to go into them. The point is, I apologize to you in advance if I screw up. Again.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Peter said softly, nuzzling his face down into the blanket until just his eyes were showing. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Because that’s what he already was to Aunt May, and Peter hated that feeling. 

Mr. Stark’s eyes widened. “That’s not – Peter, you’re not a burden. Is that how I’ve made you feel? Shit. I’ve already fucked this up – err, _messed_ this up. Shit! I mean – shoot. Ugh.” Mr. Stark groaned and put his hand over his face.

Peter bit his lip, looking at Mr. Stark’s other hand where it was laying on the couch. Slowly, he eased his hand out from beneath the blanket and reached over to touch Mr. Stark’s hand. Mr. Stark instantly lifted his head to look down at their hands. Then he looked at Peter. There was a funny look on his face. 

“That was a great example of how I’m going to screw up,” Mr. Stark said finally. “Peter, listen to me. I meant what I said before. I shouldn’t have ignored you. I can see where you got a lot of mixes signals, and that’s on me for not being a best communicator. I’m the adult here. I should have realized. I didn’t, but I promise to do better. But there is one thing you really need to know.”

Mr. Stark grabbed Peter’s hand, holding it tightly. Peter gasped at the touch and stared at him, shocked.

“You are _never_ a burden, kiddo, okay? I love having you around. You’re cute and sassy and so smart that it blows me away. I want you here; I want to take care of you. I think I have from day one. I just didn’t know how to let myself want that. That has nothing to do with you. That’s all on me and my own issues, okay? Not you. Never on you.”

His eyes bored into Peter’s like he was willing Peter to believe what he said. Peter didn’t know if he did – it sounded too good to be true – but he really wanted to. Enough so that he curled his fingers around Mr. Stark’s and started holding on too.

“There’s just one thing,” Mr. Stark said, and he finally smiled. “You have to stop with this ‘Mr. Stark’ nonsense. It’s Tony, kid. Just Tony.”

“T-Tony,” Peter whispered obediently, blushing. Mr. Stark’s – no, Tony’s smile broadened in approval. That was too much. Peter pulled the blanket over his head to hide, face so hot it felt like he was going to combust, but unable to resist smiling too.


	16. Chapter 16

Within about four hours, Tony knew that he was totally sunk. There was no coming back from this. He was totally in love. He stared down at Peter, who was still curled up inside the blanket. Only now, instead of watching the television with a fascinated expression, Peter was sound asleep. Not surprising, consider what he had been through over the past couple of weeks. Sleep had probably been on short supply.

“If only I could take a picture of your face right now and send it back in time to the Tony of five years who was so sure that he would never have a Little,” Pepper whispered. But she was smiling, with that sort of bright eyed, misty look that meant she was really happy, so there was no sting to her words.

And either way, Tony wouldn’t have blamed her. She had turned out to be right in the end, after all. It made him feel a little guilty to think that he and Pepper had broken up because of something that Tony had turned out to want in the end, but he was also smart enough to know that there had been and still were other problems between him and Pepper. The whole Little thing had just been a front for it. Still, they were a step closer and just seeing Pepper’s smile again was incredible.

“He’s not technically my Little yet,” Tony told her, feeling compelled to point that out. It seemed like Peter wanted this, but they hadn’t even talked to May yet. And even once that happened, there was a lot of documentation that needed to be filed with the government to make things official. 

Plus, he didn’t want to rush into anything. The morning had gone well, but all they’d really done was eat breakfast together and then Peter had watched some cartoons until he fell asleep. It wasn’t like Tony had done anything to actually take care of him. He still thought there was a good chance that things would turn into a disaster when Peter woke up.

“Not officially,” Pepper said, looking at him knowingly. “But I know you, Tony Stark. You’re smitten. You were already halfway there, but now you’re all the way.”

“Maybe,” Tony said with a non-committal shrug, even though they both knew that Pepper was right. He still wasn’t sure that being around him was best for Peter, but he also wasn’t sure he’d be able to drag himself away at this point even if he tried.

She laughed at him. “Keeping tell yourself that, Tony.” She reached for her coat and pulled it on. Tony immediately sat up straight.

“Wait, where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“I have work,” Pepper said apologetically.

“You could skip. I give you permission!” he said quickly.

Pepper sighed and walked over to him. “First of all, you’re no longer my boss and that means you don’t get to give me permission to skip. Second of all, I _can’t_ skip. I have a bunch of meetings this afternoon that I really need to be at. I already had my P.A. reschedule two of them this morning, but I absolutely can’t miss anymore.”

“But I need you!” Tony exclaimed, then quickly amended that to, “Uh, I mean, Peter needs you.”

“If Peter needs me, I’m only a phone call away,” Pepper said, leaning down to peck him on the lips. “You’ll be fine.”

“But Peeeeeeep.” Tony tried to grab onto her, but she slipped out of his grasp and backed away towards the door.

“I’ll call you when I can. Be good.” She blew him another kiss and then darted into the elevator. Tony sighed as the doors swished shut, taking her away. He supposed he should have seen this coming. Pepper was nothing if not fully committed to her job at Stark Industries. If she said she had meetings that she couldn’t miss, then that meant nothing would stop her from getting to them.

He turned his gaze back to Peter, feeling a renewed flush of nerves now that he didn’t have Pepper’s support to rely on. It would be really easy to mess this up. Peter looked so innocent in his sleep. So small, so _fragile_. Tony chewed his lower lip, then sighed again and got up. He couldn’t sit here staring at Peter; he’d go crazy. He needed a distraction.

So it was that about an hour or so later, Tony was deep into fielding some complex emails from the R&D department when he heard a sound from the sofa. His head snapped up and he looked over at the sofa, realizing that Peter was awake. His heart started pounding instantly, and he really wanted to grab the phone and beg Pepper to come back, but instead he stood up and cautiously made his way closer.

“Hey kiddo,” he said softly. “How are you feeling?”

Peter looked up at him with a hazy, semi-focused gaze and a wide smile. Tony blinked down at him, wondering if this was a Peter who was fully in his headspace – and got confirmation that it was when Peter reached up both hands towards Tony like he wanted to be picked up. Rather than pick the kid up, Tony stepped closer and sat down so that he could pull Peter into his lap and hug him.

“I think you’re well into your headspace, baby boy,” Tony murmured, supposing that he shouldn’t be surprised. If Peter had never really gone into his headspace before, then it made sense that it would happen as soon as Peter was somewhere safe and comfortable with people he trusted.

He sat there for a moment, rocking Peter back and forth, and wondered what to do now. They really should have talked more about what Peter was okay with. That thought only became more prominent when Peter squirmed and then there was a warm wetness against Tony’s leg. Tony couldn’t help making a face, which Peter seemed to find amusing. He giggled and clapped his hands against Tony’s face.

At least he wasn’t upset, Tony reflected, too amused to be even a tiny bit annoyed that he’d just been peed on. Had Peter not been so deep into his headspace, he would’ve been mortified beyond belief. But it seemed like Peter had sunk pretty deep the first time, which wasn’t uncommon considering how long Peter had been fighting against himself. 

“I guess we need to get you changed,” Tony said a little hesitantly, and Peter blinked.

Like it was only then dawning on him what had happened, his face screwed up and he started to cry.

“Oh shit. I mean shoot,” Tony quickly corrected himself. “Don’t cry. It’s fine! All fine. Come on.” He somehow managed to get both himself and Peter standing, with only a few winces on Tony’s part. 

Peter cried louder when he saw the wet spot on Tony’s jeans. He looked so genuinely miserable, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, that it just about broke Tony’s heart. 

“It’s okay. Really, it’s okay,” Tony soothed him, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders. He led Peter back to the bedroom, where he was presented with a problem. Peter was too young to change himself right now, but it wasn’t like he’d consented to Tony changing him. On the other hand, it wasn’t like he could leave Peter in a pee-soaked diaper. That could cause a rash, and the kid had already been through enough.

He thought for a moment before realizing that there was an obvious answer and nodded. “Okay, Pete, here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re going to lay down on the bed for me, okay? Can you do that?”

Peter sniffed loudly, tears still running down his cheeks, and nodded. Tony led him over to the bed and helped him to climb up and lay down. Then he scooted over to the discarded package of diapers and pull-ups. Against his better judgement, he grabbed a pull-up and a few wipes. A diaper would’ve been better, but Peter had been adamant about not wearing one just yet.

“FRI, you’re going to have to be my eyes here,” Tony said as he returned to the bed. He set the pull-up down and hooked his thumbs into Peter’s pajama pants. Peter grabbed a pillow and pulled it over his face. Tony tried not to wince and closed his eyes.

“Of course, Boss,” FRIDAY said. “Pull Peter’s pajama bottoms down by two inches –”

Changing Peter with his eyes shut wasn’t exactly easy even with FRIDAY’s helpful direction, and it took a lot longer than it should have, but Tony persevered. In about ten minutes, he was pulling Peter’s pajama bottoms back up. Peter’s face was still buried under the pillow, and Tony gave him a thoughtful look. He was willing to bet Peter didn’t have any stuffed animals. They’d need to rectify that.

But first…

“Well, it’s a shame that Peter seems to have left the building. I guess I’ll have to drink all that chocolate milk by myself,” Tony said loudly, disposing of the mess. He peeked over at the bed just in time to see the pillow inch down just enough for Tony to see one brown eye. As soon as Peter saw him looking, the pillow went right back up. Tony had to smile.

“Sure will be hard to drink all that milk by myself,” he went on, washing his hands. “If only I had help… especially since I was planning to have some cookies.”

That did it. Now Tony had two brown eyes looking at him with interest.

“But I guess I could always throw some out if I had to,” Tony added.

“No!” Peter exclaimed, shooting upright.

Tony pretended to be shocked. “Oh my gosh! You’re still here!” he exclaimed dramatically, and Peter gave a shy giggle that melted Tony’s heart.

“Milk,” Peter said, clutching the pillow to his chest and looking at Tony with hopeful eyes. They were definitely going to have to get him some toys. No kid should have to settle for a pillow. Maybe later, Tony thought, they could go online together and pick out some fun stuff. Little Peter might be more open about what he wanted than Big Peter would be.

“So you do want some milk?” Tony said, unable to hide his smile. “I think we can do that. Come on, Buddy.” He approached the bed and held out a hand. 

Peter nibbled his lower lip, darting a look at Tony a couple times before he took Tony’s hand and let Tony help him off the bed. Tony led the way out of the room and back into the kitchen, noticing that Peter was just a touch unsteady on his feet now – unsurprising, given the current age of Peter’s headspace. He was careful to help Peter sit down at the table before he went over to the cupboard. There, he faced a bit of a problem as he realized he didn’t have anything for Peter to drink out of.

“If I may, Boss,” FRIDAY piped up again. “Please check the cupboard to your right. I took the liberty of ordering a few extra things last night.”

“FRI, you’re incredible,” Tony said gratefully, opening the cupboard and immediately spying a red-and-gold sippy cup. There was a big picture of Iron Man on the side. He picked it up, gave it a quick wash, and then filled both it and a normal glass with chocolate milk.

Peter frowned deeply when Tony came over to the table and set the sippy cup in front of him. “Glass,” he said, pointing to Tony’s regular glass.

“Nope, sorry, Sweet pea. This is mine. Yours is that super cool cup with Iron Man on it,” Tony said, realizing that he should have expected this given Peter’s reaction to diapers and pull-ups. 

“Cool?” Peter repeated, looking at the cup.

“Very cool,” Tony said with a serious nod. “Iron Man recommended.”

Peter’s face screwed up like he was thinking. Tony pretended not to notice and took a sip of the milk. After a moment, Peter’s hand slowly stretched out and he picked up the cup. He took a closer look at the Iron Man picture on the front before he put the spout to his lips. He took a drink, and Tony smiled into his glass.


	17. Chapter 17

Peter fell asleep again on the couch shortly after they were finished with their snack, which was fine with Tony but also somewhat concerning. It was normal for Littles to sleep more than the average person, but Peter’s level of exhaustion seemed unprecedented even for a Little teenaged superhero. Tony leaned back against the chair and looked at the kid with a faint frown.

If his math was right, and it always was, Peter had known for sure that he was a Little for approximately three weeks now. In that time, the kid hadn’t been into his headspace. That was dangerous for Littles. They _needed_ that time. Denying his headspace for as long as he had, had obviously taken a toll on Peter.

Frankly, Tony thought that Peter was very fortunate that he hadn’t fallen into his headspace while he was out as Spider-Man, as stress could accelerate that process. It was generally recommended that Littles go into their headspace for at least two twelve-hour segments in a seven-day period. That was the bare minimum and most Littles needed more than that. So if Peter wanted to keep being Spider-Man, they were going to have to figure out something a lot more regular.  
But first things first.

He took out his phone and started looking up a few websites of some local stores. What FRIDAY had ordered was great, but not nearly enough for Tony to take care of a Little long-term. He ordered a few more things and selected a rush delivery, then tucked his phone back into his pocket. Hopefully, by the time that Peter woke up, everything would already be here.

And maybe after Peter had another few hours in his headspace, he’d be able to be big again. Tony hoped so. He really wanted to talk to the kid before he spoke to May again, because May was sure to ask for details that Tony wasn’t sure Peter would want her to know. Then again, on the other hand, May was Peter’s legal guardian and de facto caregiver. She deserved to know those details.

Tony sighed and rubbed his forehead: he was already getting a headache and he had the feeling it wasn’t going to get any better any time soon. Situations like this were needlessly complicated, but the simple truth was that Peter wasn’t _his_ Little. So Tony wasn’t free to make all the decisions here no matter how much he wanted to protect Peter.

Unless Peter meant what he’d said when he was on the verge of his headspace. Unless he _wanted_ Tony as his permanent caregiver… Pepper sure seemed to think that he did. Tony swallowed, glancing again at the adorable picture that Peter made. Even if Peter did want that, it was hard to know whether May would agree. If she refused, it didn’t matter what Peter or Tony wanted.

“Boss? Ms. Potts wants me to tell you that you have a meeting in five minutes, and she expects you to attend virtually,” FRIDAY said.

“Shh,” Tony hissed automatically, tensing as Peter’s cute face scrunched up in displeasure at the sound. Tony held his breath, but Peter settled quickly and even tucked his thumb into his mouth as he fell back asleep.

“Sorry,” FRIDAY said, volume considerably lower.

“It’s nothing. Uh, tell Pep I’ll be on in two secs. FRI, keep an eye on Peter for me and let me know if he wakes up.” Tony got up and grabbed his laptop. He hated to leave Peter alone in the living room, but he also couldn’t hold his meeting in the same room without waking the kid up. Since he had no interest in dealing with a cranky little, he slipped into his office and eased the door shut.

He plugged his laptop in on the desk and slid on the suit jacket he always kept on the back of the chair. Once it was buttoned up, no one would be able to tell that he was just wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He quickly ran a hand through his hair, checked his face and teeth in the reflection of his laptop, and then allowed FRIDAY to patch him through to the meeting.

It took a couple of hours, which was much longer than Tony wanted it to go. But Stark Industries was trying to branch out into some new countries, and it wasn’t always easy to do so. Still, Tony was stubborn and Pepper was determined. They made a good team, as always. By the end of the meeting, Tony was exhausted but triumphant. He logged out of the meeting and sat down, just basking in the glow of a job well done for a few moments.

Then FRIDAY spoke up. “Boss, your delivery arrived while you were in the meeting. The boxes are downstairs. Should I have them sent up?”

Tony considered that for a moment, then said, “Have someone stack them in the elevator. I’ll take it from there.” He wasn’t usually comfortable letting people other than Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, or Peter up on his personal floor, but he was even less inclined to do so today. He didn’t think Peter would be happy to see a stranger around if he happened to wake up.

He took off his jacket and draped it back over the chair, and by that point FRIDAY had confirmed that the boxes were on their way out. So Tony ventured out into the living room and found that Peter was still curled up on the couch, though he was beginning to show signs of waking. His eyelashes were fluttering, and he kept squirming around like he couldn’t find the right position.

Deciding he’d let Peter wake up on his own, Tony headed over to the elevator. Half a dozen boxes waited for him when the doors slid open. Tony dragged each one out of the elevator and then took a moment to breathe, wincing and rubbing at his chest. Okay, maybe doing that on his own hadn’t been the best idea. He probably should have gotten a suit to help.

“Boxes?” a tiny voice said behind him, and Tony whipped around to see that curious brown eyes were peeking up over the couch at him.

“Hey Buddy! You woke up!” Tony said, smiling encouragingly. “Yeah, I bought some stuff for you. You can come see if you want, but first: do you need to pee?”

Peter blinked a bit, head tipping to the side in the cutest way, before he got up off the couch. As soon as he was standing, his eyes got really big and he shot off towards the bathroom. Tony got up and followed automatically. When he got to the partially closed bathroom door, he could hear the sound of pee hitting the toilet. It only lasted for a few seconds before it stopped. The toilet flushed and then the faucet ran as Peter washed his hands.

When the door opened, Tony looked down at him. “Is your pull-up wet?”

Blushing a bit, Peter mutely shook his head. Tony decided to take him at his worst and held out his hand. Peter grabbed his hand, holding on so tightly it hurt a bit, and Tony led him back to the living room. There, he cast a surreptitious glance over the boxes, trying to figure out which box held what. Some of the things didn’t need to be seen by Peter yet, mostly because Tony wasn’t sure whether Peter would need them – and if he did, whether he would be receptive to them.

Finally, Tony spied the one he wanted and grinned as he let go of Peter’s hand and walked over to it. Gesturing for Peter to come closer, Tony knelt down and pulled at the flaps until the tape snapped and the box opened. Sitting right on top was the very item that Tony was most excited about. He pulled it out of the box and held it up so that Peter could see.

Peter froze. His eyes went very wide, mouth forming a small ‘o’ of shock. He whispered, “For me?” in a tiny voice.

“Yeah, Baby. For you,” Tony said, gentling his voice. “Do you like it?”

Part of him had been expecting Peter to say that wasn’t a baby and so wasn’t interested in toys, but Peter seemed to be utterly captivated by the teddy bear. Which made sense, Tony thought smugly, because the bear was wearing a cloth replica of the Iron Man armor. The faceplate was missing so that the bear’s paler brown snout and round black eyes could be seen. Two fuzzy ears stuck out of the top of the helmet, and an equally fuzzy tail stuck out through the back of the ‘armor’.

“Mine?” Peter said, pointing to himself.

“Yup. All yours.” Tony stepped closer and gently slid the bear into Peter’s outstretched hands. Peter looked at it for a moment, seemingly mesmerized, before he brought the bear in against his chest. He nuzzled his cheek against the top of the bear.

“Thank you,” he whispered, looking up at Tony with big brown eyes.

“You’re welcome,” Tony said, swallowing. Maybe this was the real reason he’d kept himself away from Peter for so long. The kid was _unfairly_ cute.

Peter gave him a shy smile, cuddling the bear to his chest. Tony smiled back and turned to the box, picking out a couple of Lego sets. They were probably a little advanced for a baby headspace, but Peter was a really smart kid. And after all the baby stuff Peter had been exposed to today, something that was for older kids might be just what the doctor ordered.

“Legos!” Peter said, looking excited when he saw the sets. “Yeah!”

“Let’s build something really cool,” Tony said, moving closer to the couch. He opened up the sets and shook out the pieces. Peter plonked himself down on the floor and started grabbing pieces – but only after he carefully put the bear down between his legs.

Tony had intended to sit back and let Peter have fun, but he couldn’t help himself. The Legos were too tempting. He grabbed a handful of them and started idly putting them together. He was still watching Peter out of the corner of his eye, so he saw the moment when Peter started sucking his thumb again. But he was still trying to put the Legos together, and it was pretty hard to do that with just one hand.

Surreptitiously, Tony scooted over to the boxes and rummaged through until he found what he wanted. The whole Iron Man thing probably wouldn’t pan out forever, but Tony was willing to push his luck as far as he could. That’s why the pacifier that he picked out had a red mouthguard with a ring designed to look like a gauntlet. He moved back over to Peter.

The kid hadn’t noticed what Tony was doing. His face was scrunched up in focus as he alternated between using both hands to play with the Legos and slipping one of his thumbs into his mouth. Tony couldn’t figure out what Peter was building – a tower, maybe. Or a boat? Peter definitely had something in mind.

“Here, Bud,” Tony said softly, moving closer. He held the pacifier out.

Peter froze. “Not a baby.”

Tony considered his words very carefully. “Using a pacifier doesn’t make you a baby. I just thought it would help free up your hands to play with the Legos so you can build something really cool,” he explained.

“Don’t need it,” Peter mumbled, yet he eyed the pacifier with something that looked a lot like longing.

“Pete. Open your mouth,” Tony said, not unkindly, and after a moment, Peter obeyed. Tony popped the pacifier into his mouth. For a moment, he thought Peter would spit it out. But Peter didn’t. Maybe it was a little easier to accept Little things when Peter was told to do it? Or maybe it was just about being told by the right person…

Whatever the reason, within moments Peter was happily using both hands to play with the Legos while sucking on his pacifier. Tony settled down beside him to watch.


	18. Chapter 18

Peter opened his eyes, feeling warm and comfortable, and found himself back in Tony’s bed. He had vague memories of falling asleep on the couch after supper, which meant that Tony must have gotten him into bed somehow. He yawned widely and rubbed at his eyes, feeling more rested and relaxed than he had in months. The lazy lassitude felt like something to be treasured given how rarely Peter was able to enjoy it.

He rolled over on his back and thought about all the time that Tony had spent with him yesterday. It was a little embarrassing to know that Tony had had to help Peter with his pull-ups and everything, but Peter didn’t feel nearly as embarrassed as he would have guessed. More than anything, he just felt… warm. Cared for. Maybe even loved, if he was being daring.

It was a feeling that he didn’t think he’d ever be able to achieve with Thérèse. She didn’t care about him. To her, Peter was nothing more than another faceless Little. A part of her job. And while he didn’t fault Thérèse for that – it wasn’t like he could expect her to personally care about every Little she came into contact with – it wasn’t a nice feeling either. He couldn’t imagine being so vulnerable in front of her, like he’d been with Tony.

So where did that leave him? Peter didn’t know, and the uncertainty gnawed away at some of the contentment he was feeling. With Tony, it didn’t seem scary to use babyish stuff or even act like Tony. Because Peter knew that Tony wouldn’t judge him or mock him. Just the opposite, actually. Tony had seemed all too happy every time Peter did something like suck on a pacifier or cuddle with a teddy or play with the Legos.

He supposed the difference was that Tony wanted Peter to do those things because it was what he thought Peter wanted it – and he wasn’t wrong if Peter was being honest. But Thérèse wanted Peter to do things because in her eyes, that was what a Little in Peter’s headspace should want or need. She didn’t know anything about Peter’s personal tastes, nor would she care to learn. She just wanted him to fall into line.

So what would happen now? Peter didn’t know. But just for a moment, he let himself close his eyes and think about being able to lay in Tony’s arms and drink from a bottle. Or being able to let himself go and trust that Tony would change his diaper. It was a little scary to know how much he wanted that: to be able to just _let go_ and know that Tony would take care of everything…

“Pete? You awake?” Tony’s soft voice from the door made Peter’s eyes snap open. He sat up quickly, feeling the unpleasant squish of a wet pull-up between his thighs, as Tony came into the room. Tony stood there for a few seconds, head tilted as he looked at Peter, and it belatedly dawned on Peter that Tony was probably trying to figure out whether he was in his headspace or not.

“I’m big,” Peter told him. Or big enough. 

“Are you okay? You’re crying,” Tony said.

Peter blinked and then flushed, quickly wiping his face. When had that happened?

“Hey, it’s fine. I’ve heard that transitioning between your headspaces at first can be overwhelming. Don’t try to force yourself one way or the other,” Tony said, moving closer to the bed. “There’s no rush.”

“You must have work,” Peter mumbled, but Tony shook his head.

“Nope. Pepper gave me the morning off,” he said. “I’m fully prepared to devote myself to you for as long as it takes… even if it takes all day and I can’t work.” He grinned and winked at Peter.

Despite himself, Peter found himself smiling back. “I don’t want to distract you from your work…”

“It’s not a big deal. Even geniuses like me need morning’s off once in a while, and I figure that the two of us need to talk,” Tony said.

“Talk?” Peter repeated in a small voice, immediately wondering if he’d done something wrong.

“A good talk,” Tony said quickly. “Just like, there were a few awkward moments when I was taking care of you. I realized I never got your consent to change you. Things like that. Nothing bad.” He reached out and patted Peter’s knee beneath the covers. “When you’re a caregiver, you walk a fine line between what’s okay when someone is Little and what’s very _not_ okay when they’re not. I don’t want to cross over your lines.”

“Oh.” Peter thought about that for a moment before nodding. That sounded alright. 

“Great. Do you want my help getting change?” Tony asked.

“No, I can do it,” Peter said.

“Okay. Take your time. I’ll be right outside.” Tony patted his knee again and then got up, leaving the room. Peter waited until he was gone before he pushed the covers back and climbed out of the bed.

He went into the bathroom and quickly took off the soiled pull-up, disposed of it, and cleaned himself up. It was a little easier to put a new one on. Then he washed his hands and face. There was a new toothbrush and a bottle of tooth paste on the counter, which he assumed was for him. He opened the toothbrush and quickly brushed his teeth. He felt a lot more human by the time all of that was done. Human enough to face this conversation without running away at any rate.

“Morning. Want some breakfast?” Tony asked as Peter emerged from the bedroom.

“Can I have a normal cup?” Peter asked as he moved closer to the counter.

Tony smiled. “I don’t know. You really seemed to love that Iron Man cup.”

Peter could feel himself blushing, but he still met Tony’s eye defiantly. “Of course I do. Iron Man is the best superhero by far.”

“Oh, uh, right,” Tony said. Peter looked at him closely and realized he could detect a hint of a flush on Tony’s cheeks and ears. Huh. 

He took a seat at the island, resting his chin on his hands. Tony was heating up the remainder of the pancakes from yesterday and they smelled just as good now as they had then. Peter settled in to watch. He didn’t feel very big at the moment, but he didn’t feel little like he had yesterday either. It kind of felt like he could slide either way, but the thought of being in his little headspace didn’t feel scary anymore. It wasn’t overwhelming so long as Tony was there, it was just sort of – a possibility.

“I don’t want to see Thérèse anymore,” Peter blurted out.

Tony paused in the middle of putting some pancakes on a plate. He looked up at Peter with a serious expression. “Then you don’t have to see her again.”

“But I – I don’t know how to tell Aunt May. People like Thérèse are all she can afford,” Peter said in a small voice. “And I don’t know that anyone else from the government would be better.”

“You don’t have to have any of them. You could have me if you wanted.” Tony’s voice was full of hesitance, but he also looked at Peter like he meant it. “We could make it official, I mean. I know we’ve been dancing around it, so I’m saying it now. I’d be okay with trying that if you wanted.”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“And before you respond, you are _not_ a burden,” Tony said firmly. “You’re smart enough to know that Caregivers have biological needs too. I’ve been ignoring mine for years, and that’s not exactly healthy. This, if it ends up being something works, will go both ways.”

“Right,” Peter said, because he’d known that, but he’d also forgotten about it. Just a little. It was easy to get caught up in thinking that Little’s were nothing but an unnecessary burden.

“So… what do you think?” Tony asked.

“Yes,” Peter said.

Tony blinked. “You didn’t need to answer so fast. You could take a little time to think about it…”

“I don’t need to. I always wanted you to be my caregiver. I just didn’t think you’d want me,” Peter said quietly.

“Right.” Tony set a plate of pancakes and toast down in front of Peter. “Then I need to say that I think you should think about telling May that you’re Spider-Man.”

“What?” Peter squeaked. “No way! The fact that I’m a Little is already hard enough for her to absorb. I can’t tell her I’m Spider-Man too. That would give her a heart attack! Or she would ban me from being Spider-Man.” His heart started beating faster as he suddenly realized that maybe that was _why_ Tony was suggesting this. “Wait. Is this your way of telling me that you don’t think I should be Spider-Man now?”

“No! No, that’s not what I meant at all! I – shit, I’m screwing this up already.” Tony groaned and set his own plate on the island.

“Then… you’re okay with me being Spider-Man?” Peter said, watching him nervously.

“I think that nothing May or I say would stop you. I know what it’s like to need to be a superhero. I wouldn’t take that away from you; I plan to help you find ways to mitigate your classification in the field. Like having a safe word so that your suit’s A.I. can take over if you’re feeling Little,” Tony explained.

“Wait, my suit has an A.I.?” Peter said, intrigued.

“Don’t get distracted, kid.” Tony poured them both orange juice and hopped up beside him. “I just meant, I know it’s putting a ton of stress on you having to hide being Spider-Man from May. That’s hard on anyone. If you wanted to figure out how to tell her, I would help you. And I’d be willing to talk to her on your behalf so that maybe she wouldn’t pull the plug on the whole superhero gig. That’s all. I wouldn’t force you to do it, and it’s definitely not because I want you to stop.”

“Okay,” Peter said, relaxing a little. “I’ll think about it.” He definitely didn’t want to tell Aunt May anytime soon, but maybe once he’d become more comfortable with being Spider-Man and also being a Little, he’d feel differently.

“Good. Sorry, I didn’t mean to spring that on you,” Tony said. “However, we will definitely need to tell her about you and me. She’s your official guardian right now, so I’d need her permission for this to happen.”

“Right. That makes sense.” Peter stared down at his food without touching it, even though it looked delicious and he was hungry. He couldn’t shake the idea that Aunt May was going to be upset with him for not liking Thérèse, and he hated the thought of her being mad.

“Peter, it will be fine,” Tony said, very gently. “I promise. Now, please eat your breakfast, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter said. He looked at his cup, realizing for the first time that Tony had given him the sippy cup again. Tony saw him looking and shrugged.

“Your headspace is pretty young, kiddo. You’re going to have to come to terms with using things like diapers and bottles,” Tony said, not unkindly. 

Peter frowned. “What if I don’t want to?”

“I mean, we can try to work around them, but…” Tony pulled a face. “It wouldn’t be easy.”

“Right.” Peter sighed and cut a little piece of his pancakes. “What else did we need to talk about? Just that?”

“Well, there’s also things like me being able to change you or bathe you,” Tony said. “I’m not sure how much you remember, but I had to close my eyes and get FRIDAY to guide me. That was… ah, awkward.”

“That’s fine,” Peter said quietly. He was embarrassed at the thought of anyone changing him, but he supposed that if it had to be someone, it might as well be Tony. At least he wasn’t a total stranger like Thérèse. It was hard, though. He’d wanted so much to be someone that Tony Stark respected. He wasn’t sure he could ever achieve that now when Tony Stark would be changing his diapers instead.

Tony looked at him curiously but appeared willing to take Peter at his word. “Okay, thank you. Are you comfortable with trying out diapers, or would you prefer to stick to pull-ups for now?”

“Pull-ups, please,” Peter said softly. 

“No problem.” Tony flashed him a smile, and Peter hesitantly smiled back. At least Tony was listening to him and taking Peter’s opinions into account, which was more than Thérèse had ever done. And he _had_ always wanted Tony to be his caregiver if he had to have one… so maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I skimmed over the events of Homecoming in this chapter, because I feel it would be boring for everyone to write it out. Some dialogue is borrowed from the movie. The next chapter will be an epilogue of sorts.

It was bad.

It was _so_ bad.

“It’s okay, Peter. It’s not that big a deal,” Aunt May said, patting his arm comfortingly. 

“It’s a huge deal,” Peter said. His voice cracked and he swallowed hard, turning his face away from her. He wanted to close his eyes, but, every time he did that, he saw Tony’s disappointed expression. And then he heard Tony’s voice telling him that he wouldn’t be Spider-Man anymore. That the suit was gone. Forever. 

Aunt May sighed. “You’ll find another internship, honey,” she said gently. “I know that Mr. Stark was something special, but just because you don’t know about your internship doesn’t mean he won’t be your caregiver anymore.”

Peter said nothing. She hadn’t been there; she hadn’t seen the way that Tony had _looked_ at him. Like Peter had somehow failed to live up to every expectation that Tony had ever had. It was a look that spoke far more than words ever could, and honestly Peter didn’t even know if he could face Tony again when that look would haunt Peter for the rest of his life. Those two golden days in the tower had only been a week ago, yet they might as well have been years ago.

She pursed her lips, then said, “Do you want me to see if Thérèse will come back?”

“No!” Peter said instantly, horrified by the thought. He’d been relieved and delighted when Aunt May agreed to let Thérèse go. She’d seemed uncertain about Tony Stark as a caregiver but was willing to see how things went without Thérèse’s interference. Peter didn’t know what was going to happen now. But he did know that he didn’t want to see Thérèse ever again.

“Peter…” Aunt May seemed like she was about to say something, but then she looked at his face and changed her mind. She shook her head instead.

“He hasn’t contacted me,” Peter said to fill the silence. “It’s been three days.”

“He’s a busy man. Why don’t you reach out to him?” Aunt May suggested.

“No.” It was Peter’s turn to shake his head. He couldn’t bear the thought of texting Tony right now, only to have Tony not answer. Or worse yet, Tony might answer and tell Peter that he didn’t want to be Peter’s caregiver anymore. Right now, Peter honestly didn’t know which would be worse.

“You need a caregiver,” she said, gently but firmly.

Again, Peter said nothing. It was too hard to talk to Aunt May when she didn’t know the full story. Tony had suggested that Peter tell her he was Spider-Man, but what was the point? Now that the suit had been taken away, Peter didn’t even know if he _was_ Spider-Man anymore. If he wasn’t, then wouldn’t telling her just be upsetting Aunt May unnecessarily? She didn’t need to know what might be in the past…

Aunt May sighed again and got up after one last pat to his arm. Peter took that to mean that she was willing to drop the conversation for now, which was a relief. He got up from the couch and wandered into his bedroom and over to the window. He looked out at the city. It was just beginning to get dark. This was normally right about the time when he’d be getting ready to head out for patrol.

Instead, Peter had dinner with his aunt, did his homework, and went to bed. He pretended like his life wasn’t falling apart around him and went to school like usual for the next two days. He even agreed to go to the dance with Ned, because Ned didn’t want to go alone, and he put up with Aunt May getting him a suit and fussing over him that night. Peter put on a smile and pretended like it was fine, like he was looking forward to the dance when all he wanted was to crawl into Tony’s lap and cry.

Six days. It had been _six days_ since he’d heard from Tony…

And then Peter got to the dance, and he ended up standing outside with Ned for a little while, and so he was there when Liz’s dad dropped her off.

“Aw fuck,” Peter said, softly but with intent. Liz and a couple of her friends were all smiling at her dad like he wasn’t a budding supervillain who had almost killed Spider-Man.

Ned looked at him in shock. “What?”

“I have a – a thing. A thing I need to take care of,” Peter said, his mind racing. He was tempted to tell Ned to try to contact Tony or even Happy, but what good would that do? Ned didn’t know that Peter was Spider-Man, and now wasn’t the time to try to tell him. And what’s more, Peter couldn’t even be sure that Tony or Happy would care even if Ned were able to get through to them.

“A thing? What?! Dude, I thought we were going to raid the snack table!” Ned protested.

“Sorry!” Peter called out, speeding into the building. The hallway was mercifully empty, allowing him to retrieve his emergency, home-made spider suit. His stomach clenched as he pulled it on; the suit was nothing like the amazing one that Tony had taken away, but it was all he was going to get. He wasn’t going to let the lack of a fancy suit stop him from protecting people.

He tucked the suit under his arm, made a grab for his phone – and stopped. 

Should he tell Tony?

Part of him wanted to. He wanted to call Tony up, spill the whole story, and then just enjoy the night with Ned while Tony took care of everything. Because not only was Tony an Avenger, he was also sort of Peter’s caregiver. It would be really nice to be able to tell an adult about all this so that Peter didn’t have to try to figure out what the right move was all on his own.

But another part of him didn’t want to. His mind kept re-playing the moment when Tony had taken the other suit away. The look on Tony’s face. The disappointment in his voice. Peter never wanted Tony to look at him like that or speak to him like that ever again. He _ached_ for Tony to be proud of him.

Maybe this was his chance. Maybe this was the time where Peter could take charge and prove that he was more than just a stupid Little who didn’t know what he was doing. His hands tightened around his phone and he took a deep, steadying breath before he shoved his phone back into his pocket. He didn’t need help. Spider-Man had always gotten by alone just fine before, and he would do it again.

He donned the homemade suit and stealthily made his way back out of the school. Mr. Toomes was still there, luckily. Liz was leaning in the car window and talking to him. Whatever she was saying, Mr. Toomes was shaking his head. Liz finally frowned and slapped at the window frame in exasperation. She turned away while Mr. Toomes was still speaking and flounced away. Mr. Toomes looked after her, then shook his head and rolled the window up. He put the car into reverse and drove away.

Spider-Man followed.

He’d thought it was bad before.

It got _worse_.

“Oh god. Oh god,” he whispered to himself. The weight of the rubble on his back was so heavy. It was pressing him down into the floor. For a terrifying moment, he wasn’t even sure he could breathe.

This was a mistake. Spider-Man understood that with a sudden, horrifying clarity. He shouldn’t have chased after the Vulture. He should have done the responsible thing and called Tony. If Tony didn’t pick up, then Peter should have kept calling until Tony _did_ pick up. Or maybe he should have called the police. Or Happy. Or literally anyone so that he wouldn’t be here right now, buried under the rubble of a building.

His chest tightened as tears rushed to his eyes. If he’d been a normal human, he’d be dead right now. That was scary. Too scary. He couldn’t help the sob that came out, and he rushed up to tear off his mask. He clenched it in his trembling hand, blinking rapidly. He wanted to blame the tears now streaming down his cheeks on the dust in the air, but really the dust had nothing to do with it.

He was alone.

He was trapped.

He was scared.

“Aunt May,” he cried softly, lowering his head until it rested against something hard. “Tony. Please help me…” He sobbed again. 

He let himself cry for a few minutes, perilously close to his headspace. What he wanted more than anything in the world right then was for Iron Man to appear and save him again. He wanted Iron Man to lift all this rubble off and for Tony to step out of the armor. He wanted Tony to hug him and shush him in that gentle way that only Tony had, and then he wanted Iron Man to take him back to the tower. He wanted to snuggle on the couch next to Tony and sleep with his head in Tony’s lap, sucking on an Iron Man pacifier.

But that wasn’t going to happen, was it? Peter sniffed and opened his eyes, realizing that at some point his thumb had slipped into his mouth. There was now a terrible taste in his mouth, dust, and grit. He made a face and pulled his thumb out, wiping at the mess of snot and tears on his face. He couldn’t let himself slip into his headspace now. It would be easier now than it had ever been before, but to do so would mean certain death.

He couldn’t give up. He groped around, searching for his phone, and realized that it was gone. Probably crushed under several tons of concrete, no doubt. Aunt May was going to be so mad about that. His eyes burned with fresh tears, which Peter did his best to ignore. He couldn’t all for help, but that didn’t mean he was help _less_. He was Spider-Man, damnit.

He _had_ to do this, no matter how hard it was.

“Come on, Peter. Come on, Spider-Man,” he hissed. He clenched his fists and pushed up against the rubble, but it was much heavier than he’d anticipated. He quickly sank back down, gasping and shivering. Hot tears started running down his cheeks again.

He wished Tony were here. He wanted to see Tony again. He wanted to see Tony’s smile when Tony said that he was proud of him.

“Come on. _Come on_!” He pushed as hard as he could, thinking about Tony and Aunt May and Ned and all things that he still wanted to do.

The rubble creaked ominously – and then broke. Peter shot up so fast that he fell backwards and landed on his butt. He sat there for a moment, stunned, and just looked around at the huge pile of debris that surrounded him. A chill ran down his spine as he realized just how close he’d come to dying here. It would’ve been days, if not weeks or months, before anyone found his body.

It was almost enough to make him start to cry again, but Peter held it back this time. He grabbed his ripped, dirty mask and pulled it back on. No matter how much he ached, or how tired he was, he wasn’t going to stop now. He shoved his headspace down as far as he could, held up a shaking hand, and shot out a strand of webbing to take him out of the place that had nearly been his grave.

He stopped the Vulture. He saved New York.

And when it was all over, Spider-Man shakily made his way to the tower. He had never arrived this way, and he had to hope that FRIDAY would recognize him and not activate any weapons. Spider-Man landed on the outside of the building and quickly crawled to a window that he knew was on Tony’s floor. The window opened as he neared, and he breathed a sigh of thanks for FRIDAY.

“Boss was in the workshop,” FRIDAY said as he crawled inside. “He’s coming.”

“Okay.” Spider-Man reached up to pull his mask off, leaning against the wall, and finally gave over to the tears.


	20. Chapter 20

“Spider-Man just entered the tower. He’s on your floor.”

Tony froze as FRIDAY’s words sank in. FRIDAY had brought the whole situation with the Vulture and Spider-Man to his attention about twenty minutes ago. He’d spent the last nineteen minutes frantically trying to figure out what was going and, more importantly, _where_ it was happening. But Spider-Man didn’t have his phone on him for whatever reason, so the _where_ had been more difficult than Tony had anticipated.

“Is he okay?” Tony asked finally, feeling shaky down to his core. The last week had been a total whirlwind of trying to figure shit out, and it had culminated in this. 

“I’m running a scan now. I haven’t found any broken bones, but there is severe bruising,” FRIDAY replied.

That prompted Tony to jump up and make a dash for the elevator. Severe bruising didn’t sound good. He crossed his arms, waiting impatiently as the elevator rose, and darted out the doors the instant they opened. As FRIDAY had said, Spider-Man was indeed inside the tower. He was slumped against the far wall, head down, homemade mask lying beside him.

Tony paused, staring at that mask, and felt his heart _ache_. He had hoped that by taking away the suit from Peter, the kid would learn some lessons. And it seemed that Peter had… just not in the way that Tony had intended. Of course the kid had had just fallen back on his rudimentary, homemade suit. Tony didn’t know why he hadn’t seen that coming. Sometimes Peter was so much like Tony himself that it was almost scary.

“Kid?” Tony said, keeping his voice calm. Until FRIDAY had finished the scan, they didn’t really know if there was anything physically wrong. Given Peter’s accelerated healing abilities, it seemed unlikely that he’d need medical attention. But it wasn’t like FRIDAY could do a scan on Peter’s mental or emotional state.

Peter lifted his head. His eyes were too bright, and tears had made clean tracks through the mess of dust on his face. Tony took another few steps towards him, wondering what the hell the kid had been through. He looked like a mess of bruises and scrapes, to say nothing about the dust and – was that soot? Not to mention the fact that Peter’s homemade suit looked like it had been through the ringer.

“I stopped the Vulture,” Peter said hoarsely. “You said I was nothing without the suit, but that’s not true. I’m a hero.” He looked up at Tony with an expression that was probably meant to be defiant, or maybe proud, but which really just came off as terribly tired and sad.

A flood of emotion momentarily prevented Tony from speak; it wasn’t very often that Tony Stark was left speechless, but this was one of those times. Because at that moment, he knew that one of his worst fears had come true and that he had already failed Peter Parker. In trying to be better than Howard, he had somehow ended up being worse. It hurt, and his initial, knee-jerk reaction was to run away so that he didn’t make things worse. 

But at the same time, he knew he couldn’t do that. Peter had come here, to Tony, even after Tony had majorly fucked up. And maybe it was just because May didn’t yet know that her nephew was Spider-Man, so Peter didn’t have anywhere else to go. Tony didn’t dare. Peter was here, and he needed someone to take care of him, and damn it Tony was going to be that person. He was going to make up for his failure.

Boldened by his resolve, he closed the distance between him and Peter and knelt down. “Yeah, kiddo, you did, and you _are_ a hero. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you weren’t. I’m really proud of you.” He spoke the words gently but firmly, knowing that later he’d be able to scold Peter for not calling for back-up. Right now, the kid didn’t need anyone mad at him.

Peter’s eyes filled with tears. “So you don’t hate me?”

“Oh, Pete. Of course I don’t hate you. I’m so sorry,” Tony whispered. He wanted to pull Peter into a hug, but he honestly wasn’t sure if that would be welcomed right now. So he opened up his arms instead and waited, willing to give Peter the choice.

It was a relief when Peter immediately leaned into him, wrapping his arms around Tony with a sob. Tony hugged him tightly, breathing a thankful sigh. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if Peter had turned away from him. At least this way, he knew he had a chance to make things better. Another chance to make things _right_ this time. He was going to be the best caregiver ever.

And to begin with, he was going to get his kid out of this suit. He somehow got to his feet and managed to get Peter up too without the kid ever letting go of him. It was awkward, but Tony got them both down the hall and into the bathroom. He actually didn’t have to work very hard to coax Peter out of his suit. Peter stripped down with alarming quickness and practically threw the suit aside, allowing Tony to look at him with dismay. The scrapes and gashes on Peter were bad enough, but the bruising? It was everywhere, deep black and blues and purples.

“What happened to you?” Tony said, horrified.

“Just… the fight,” Peter said, looking down at himself. So he missed Tony’s look of suspicion. There was obviously more to the story, but Tony was disinclined to press too much when he felt like he was on thin ice. Besides that, the trauma was still fresh. He thought that Peter might be a little more willing to talk in the morning.

“Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll get you bathed, and then I’ll treat the worst of your scrapes,” Tony said, his mind racing. “Then I’ll get you dressed, and we’ll get some food into you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Peter said in a tiny voice. “But… I don’t want to take a shower…”

“You don’t have to. You can take a bath. FRI?” Tony said, and the tub switched itself on. He held out a hand and Peter took it. Tony helped him step over the side of the tub and sit down. FRIDAY turned the faucet off when the water was a few inches deep, and Tony straightened up to grab the showerhead. It detached easily and he knelt beside the tub.

“I can do it,” Peter said, though he didn’t look very sure.

“I’ll just watch, or I can turn my back if you want me to,” Tony told him.

Peter contemplated that for a moment, then shook his head – perhaps realizing that Tony had already seen him naked a few times now. He took the facecloth that Tony offered to him and soaped it up, wincing as the cloth ran over the worst of his scrapes. Tony wanted so badly to help, but he refrained. As promised, he sat silently by and just watched.

When Peter was all soapy, Tony handed him the showerhead. FRIDAY turned on the water without being asked, and Peter rinsed himself off. He was grateful to see that Peter was no longer shaking, and that the act of washing himself off seemed to have calmed him down. He gave the showerhead back to Tony and then picked up the shampoo. He hesitated for a few seconds before looking at Tony.

“Can you help me?” he asked in a tiny voice, and Tony’s heart melted.

“Of course.” Tony swallowed hard and took the shampoo. He let Peter wet his hair, and then the kid turned his back and leaned against the tub so that Tony could reach him. The amount of trust he was showing was somehow both touching and painful.

He squeezed some of the shampoo into his palm and lathered it up before he laid his hands on Peter’s head. Mindful of the fact that Peter probably had a headache, Tony gently began massaging the shampoo into Peter’s hair. Peter relaxed under his touch, eyes sliding shut. Tony kept the message up much longer than he actually needed to, until Peter’s hair was probably cleaner than it had ever been before.

“Time to rinse,” he said at last.

“Can you do it?” Peter asked.

“Sure,” Tony said, letting out a breath. Knowing how much Peter had freaked out the last time water touched his face, this was a great deal of trust. Tony was very, very careful as he rinsed the suds from Peter’s hair. He was intimately familiar with how terrible flashbacks involving water could be, and he didn’t want to inflict that on Peter tonight, of all nights.

When he was finished, he shut off the water and Peter slowly turned around to look at him. They looked at each other for a moment.

Then Peter said, “Thanks.”

“Anytime, Kiddo,” Tony said softly. “Anytime.”

\--

And for about eighteen months, everything was good. But then came the invasion, and an unexpected trip to space, and a crash landing on an unfamiliar planet. Tony fought, he fought with everything that he had, but it still wasn’t enough. _It wasn’t enough_ \- 

“I don't wanna go, I don't wanna go, Daddy, please. Please, I don't wanna go. I don't wanna go…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take this chance to announce that the sequel to this story should be posted within the next couple of weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](https://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/).


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